


The Cogitations of George Westhouse

by samwysesr



Series: The Life and Times of Evie Frye [3]
Category: ACS - Fandom, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fryecest - Freeform, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: From the moment Ethan Frye's six year old twins returned to Crawley, they became an  important part of George Westhouse's life; for fourteen years, he   watched Jacob and Evie grow and flourish, slowly becoming all that their father dreamed they would one day be. These are his recollections and memories of all that he observed along the way.[ One Shot/Short Story Collection ]





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Ethan: Modus Operandi

 

 

**Crawley, 1860**

For some obscure reason that he could never quite put his finger on, of late, he was finding it increasingly difficult to relax when meeting with Ethan in his study; illogical as it might be, the strangest sense of _unease_ filled him when Ethan closed the doors behind them, waving him towards his customary chair. No matter how hard he tried to shake off the odd notion, he simply _couldn’t—_ it felt as if the very walls around them were listening to every word that transpired between them. He mentioned it once in passing, only to have his friend dismiss his concerns with a snort of amusement—after that dismissal, he never brought up the subject again, but the feeling of being observed by some unseen specter never truly went away.

When he tried to puzzle out what could be the cause of the sensation, the first thing that popped into his head was almost as absurd as the feeling itself. For the briefest of instances, he wondered if it might be possible that Cecily’s spirit lingered in the house, watching over the children—not that he’d ever dare voice such a thing to Ethan. In all the years he’d been visiting the house since her untimely death, he’d never felt the slightest discomfort—not until recently—so it would be absolutely pointless to suggest such a thing since he certainly didn’t want to upset his old friend with outlandish, unsupported delusions. Instead he simply decided to ignore the feeling altogether, determined to drive it completely out of his mind.

Even so, despite his resolve, as the months passed and the feeling did not dissipate, he found himself growing more and more hesitant to discuss certain issues under Ethan’s roof; instead, he began casually initiating visits to The White Hart whenever he felt the need to converse about things that pertained to the twins or their training. And though he told himself it was Ethan’s best interest to get him out of the house for a change, deep down, he recognized that it was a partial truth at best, calling himself a superstitious fool.

“Fancy a quick visit to the Hart before I shove off?” He asked, his tone made up of carefully measured nonchalance as he stood up, trying to stretch out the kinks that had settled in his back during their meeting.

“Mhmmm… I still have quite a bit to do tonight. These scrolls I obtained need translating—”

“It’s Tuesday,” he cajoled, “Elsie’s bound to have whipped up a batch of her turtle soup.”  
  
Ethan’s reaction was immediate—he set aside the fragile parcels he was holding, flashing a smile as he stood. “In that case, I do believe I can spare an hour—”

“Knew you’d change your mind at that,” he chuckled, following him to the study door. “It’s always been your weak spot.”

Ethan glanced back over his shoulder, pausing for a moment with his hand on the latch. “It’s one of the dishes poor Evie has trouble with. I don’t know what she does to it, but the meat turns out tougher than boot leather.”

“Leaves it to boil too long, I’d wager—turtles the opposite of poultry. My gran had the same problem,” he commiserated as Ethan opened the door, “tends to spoil the flavor of the broth—” He stopped talking abruptly, taken aback at the sight of Evie scurrying around the corner towards the kitchen.

“Evie?” Ethan brushed past him, hurrying after his daughter. “What are you doing out of bed, darling?”

The girl froze, shifting from one foot to the other before slowly turning—her face hidden away beneath the long tangle of her chestnut hair as she stared down at the floor. “My mouth is very dry… my throat too—I need a glass of water.”

“Alright then—fetch it quick and hurry back to bed before Jacob wakes up and wonders where you’ve disappeared to.” Ethan tucked her hair back behind her ears, kissing the top of her head. “I’m off to the Hart with George for a bit, but I won’t be long.”  
  
He watched in silence as Ethan moved to grab their coats off the rack, his eyes flicking from the study door to the kitchen. “I believe she might have heard—”

“I know. I’ll have to make it up to her somehow. She tries… but it’s hard on her—not having a mother to teach her.”

“I could ask my sister to come down for a visit—have her spend some time with Evie and teach her a few things. Catherine wouldn’t mind,” he offered.

"Perhaps—I'll have to think on it. She might take it as a criticism of her skills. After what just happened I wouldn’t want to—”

“Where are you going? On a mission? Can I come? Please?”

The sudden burst of rapid fire questions from the top of the stairs caught both men off guard; a chuckle escaped him at the look of hopeful pleading on Jacobs face as he gazed down at them—the boy was practically bouncing with excitement.

“You may _not—_ we’re going to the inn, nothing more,” Ethan said, frowning. “You are supposed to be asleep, young man—”

“I _was_   asleep—I woke up and Evie was gone,” the boy grumbled.

“She’s fetching a drink—” Ethan shook his head as his son immediately bolted down the stairs. “None of that—your sister is perfectly capable of getting a glass of water on her own. Back to bed this instant!”  
  
He bit back another laugh at the fearsome scowl that appeared Jacob’s face—barely managing to keep his amusement in check as the boy stomped back up the stairs as loudly as possible to make his displeasure at the situation known.

 “George! Don’t encourage him!” Ethan hissed, his scowl matching his son’s—shooting a look of reprimand his way. “He’s becoming more of a handful with every day that passes—I’m at my wits end.”

“Perhaps the lad was thirsty too,” he offered, clearing his throat to cover the sound of amusement that escaped.

“Then he should have said as much instead of sulking like a toddler,” Ethan countered, yanking open the front door.

For the time being, he wisely chose to keep his thoughts to himself—though he grit his teeth, fighting back the urge to point out how much harder Ethan was on his son than his daughter. The subject he planned on broaching would be hard enough as it was without Ethan being in a defensive state of mind before it had begun. Instead, he purposefully kept the conversation light as they headed towards the Hart, inquiring about any thoughts Ethan might have on the proposed changes to Crawley’s town square—making appropriate noises of agreement as his friend obligingly latched on to the subject, reeling off a list of far more important things the town should be doing with its coffers.

It wasn’t until they were seated with their pints, waiting for the serving girl to return with their food that Ethan called his bluff. “Alright George—out with it. I know you didn’t connive to get me out of the house to discuss money being wasted on flowers and benches as opposed to enlarging the school. We might as well get down to business, don’t you think?”

Feigning confusion, he presented his companion with a look of complete innocence—one he’d learned from watching the twins on one of the many occurrences when they’d been caught making mischief. “I was hungry… nothing more.”

“After the large dinner Evie prepared a few hours ago? I think not.”

He stayed silent, earning a snort of irritation from across the table.

“Did something happen in training today that I need to know about?” Ethan prodded. “Was Jacob acting up again? Being unruly?”

“Despite what you seem to believe, Ethan, Jacob is an extremely apt pupil when I work with him. He asks intelligent questions and supplies well thought out answers—sometimes making suggestions that honestly would never occur to me. He pays attention and does whatever drills I ask without any problems whatsoever.” The question had been _almost_ the perfect opening, but still—he was hesitant to push on; he genuinely enjoyed the part he played in assisting with the twins training and helping their father mold them into the Assassins they would one day become—he was loath to jeopardize the opportunity.

“Are you implying he actually _listens_ to you?” Ethan asked, raising a brow.

“He does. That’s not to say he doesn’t burst out with an occasional quip or joke… but I can hardly judge him for that when I do it often enough myself to put him at ease during our sessions—you know how antsy he gets when we separate him from his sister for any length of time.”

“He shouldn’t _be_ at ease. George—he should be committed to becoming the best, the way Evie is. Jacob should be completely focused whether she is there beside him or not—that is the _entire_ point of training them separately from time to time!”

And there it was—the crux of what ate away at his stomach after every single training session; a snort of disgust escaped before he could catch it—immediately, he cursed his carelessness. Ethan was far too observant to not notice the sound—and far too outspoken to let it slip by without comment.

“You disagree?”

Remaining silent for a moment, he weighed his words carefully before daring to speak. “It’s not that I _completely_ disagree, per say—”

“There is no need to hold your tongue—”

“I’m not—I simply don’t want to offend you, Ethan. I _know_ you are paying me a great honor in letting me work with them—I don’t want to endanger that arrangement by overstepping my bounds concerning the way you interact with your children.”

“You’ve always been a good friend, George, to me… to Cecily, God rest her soul—and now to the children.”

Nodding, he lifted his pint in honor of her memory; Cecily Frye had been a truly remarkable woman, and in truth, if he was honest with himself, it was the great fondness he felt for her that compelled him to try and make Ethan see reason. She was no longer there to speak her mind and stand up for her children, so now it fell to him to do it in her stead.

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the soup,” he grumbled, trying to buy a bit more time to set his thoughts in order; he would only get one chance at this—he had to do it right.

“I would think that after so many years of friendship you would realize that my patience is not my greatest asset.” Ethan leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his chest. “Furthermore, you should know by now that once I latch on to a subject, I’m like a hound with a bone. Since I have _never_   been fooled by your attempts at subtle wangling—”

“I think it would be best to leave it until after we’ve enjoyed our meal—”

“Aha! I knew you were working up to something,” Ethan chuckled, reaching for his pint.  

“You laugh now, but I sincerely doubt your good mood will hold. I am fairly certain  it isn’t something you wish to hear.” He shrugged, his eyes dropping to the table—unable to meet his friend’s gaze.

“You know me better than most, George… if _you_ can’t speak freely to me, then I don’t know who can.”

“Fine—your automatic assumption that Jacob was misbehaving troubles me, Ethan. I take it you are unaware of the fact that when I work with Evie on her own, she is just as restless and ill at ease as her twin?”

Puzzlement flickered across Ethan’s face. “I find that hard to believe—”

“From what I’ve observed over the years, they are very synergetic—in my opinion, that connection is part of what will eventually make them prodigious Assassins. I assume from your reaction that she behaves differently during your sessions?”

“She does. She is intensely committed, giving me her undivided attention—which is exactly how brother should be when it comes to training.”

“You just did it again, Ethan. You implied that Jacob is intentionally not trying, when I _specifically_ told you that he was an excellent pupil—in fact, he often pushes _me_ to work harder, thanks to that unbridled energy of his. I do believe that is the very root of the problem, if you want the truth. Jacob has just as much natural talent as Evie, but it’s harder to for you to pick up on due to all the fidgeting and bouncing and squirming that he does.”  

“That’s a very interesting notion…” Ethan mused, narrowing his eyes. “If that is actually the case then he _must_  try harder to be still and pay attention. If Evie can master it then he should be able to do the same.”

There was no avoiding it—he’d have to be blunt. No matter what subtle, polite angle he tried to approach the problem from, Ethan somehow managed to just circle it right back round again, overlooking the very core of the issue. Taking a deep breath, he summoned up the courage to admit what lay so heavily on his mind. “You have to stop throwing Evie’s accomplishments and talents up to Jacob, Ethan—it will end badly if you don’t.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed—his smile immediately vanishing. “I do what I must—”

“At what cost? I promise you, if you keep this up, he will begin to resent her—they will never be able to function as a team. The Brotherhood will lose a very rare, irreplaceable thing—a pair of congruous assassins—to your methods.” He had to force the words out—as much as he hated disagreeing with his companion, he felt the truth of his words in the depth of his bones, and as such, must bring them to light.

“That is utterly preposterous,” Ethan snorted, the expression on his face clearly conveying how ridiculous he considered the comment.

“Is it? Already she shows signs of impatience with his spirit—imitating the example you set!” It came out more forcefully than he’d intended—all accusation and anger, instead of the honest concern he’d meant.  “If he resents her and she is as frustrated by him as you are, they won’t work harmoniously… they will lose that unique connection between them that makes them so formidable together, Ethan—you must see that!”

“What _exactly_ are you implying?”

“She wants to please you so badly that she mirrors you in all things—”

“Evie has a mind of her own—they both do! I have made _certain_   of that!”

“I know you want to believe that, Ethan… but it is simply not true.  I’ve watched it happen time and time again—all it takes is a disappointed glance from you and she… she _changes._ Whether intentional or not, your daughter is molding herself in _your_   image—”

“Am I to assume you consider this a _bad_   thing?” Ethan asked, his lip curling up in an outright sneer. “There are far worse people she could aspire to—”

“I think it is the exact opposite of what you intended—completely at odds with what you have always claimed to want for both of your children,” he said softly. “And you and I _both_   know that the man she is attempting to emulate isn’t the _real_   you at all. It pleases you to think she shares your mannerisms and thoughts simply because it is a silent affirmation that you made the right choice when you returned from India. You remade yourself into what you _thought_ you should be, and now your daughter is following in your footsteps, not realizing the truth—you aren’t that man at all.”

Ethan bristled. “I am _exactly_ that man—”

“The true Evie is still there, Ethan—I can see it, despite the fact that you can’t.” His hands clenched around his drink—an attempt to still the tremor of nerves that sprang up whenever they were at odds. “Over the past year I’ve been quizzing her—”

“You’ve _what?_ I never authorized you to do more than work on their physical—”

“Ethan please—let me finish! Simple questions about things you and I have discussed many times—strategic moves that require applied logic… situational circumstances that would require quick thinking… that is all, nothing more. The same sort of questions I pose to her brother to keep his mind occupied and help him focus.” His words seemed to quench a bit of the fire that had sprung up in his old friend’s eyes. “Evie is an extremely bright girl—she always comes up with very original, intelligent answers the same way her brother does… but…” he paused, searching for the right words to describe what filled him with so much concern.

“But what?” Ethan asked—impatience lacing his words.

“Do you recall the questions that I’ve posed to you when you come out to check on her progress?”  
  
Brows furrowing, Ethan nodded slowly. “Yes… what does that have to do with—”

“They are always the same questions I’ve asked her during out sparring. Your answers… they are _always_ different than the ones she gives.” He caught the surprise that flickered across the other man’s face before he could mask it away—wondering if it meant he’d latched on to the dilemma.

“There happens to be more than one right answer to most problems, George—”

“Her face always falls the minute she hears your answer, Ethan—as if she is afraid I might mention her answer differed from yours.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “That isn’t what is truly troubling—what vexes me is the fact that if I wait a week and pose the same scenario to her again… her answer changes. She parrots whatever your response was word for word… even though many times her original solution was better than your own. In trying to emulate _you,_ she is limiting herself, and wasting her full potential.”

The color drained from Ethan’s face—a sign that he _finally_ grasped the significance of the matter. “If this is true… then I’ve failed, George. I set out with the intent to retain their individuality—”

“You’ve succeeded with Jacob,” he pointed out gently. “The boy has a mind that is completely his own… just like his mother before him—and his father, as well.”

“Cecily was never quite so headstrong,” Ethan said quietly, staring down into his drink.

“Perhaps she might have been had she been born male—it seems to me that womanhood comes with shackles and chains that you and I can never hope to understand.”

“Too right.”

As his companion fell silent, he eyed the level of their drinks—gesturing for two more. He had the strong suspicion that if the conversation were to continue along the same vein, they’d need the liquid courage to see it through to the end.

“You never asked what my reasoning might be for my actions… instead, you simply took it as a chance to lecture me.”

The statement surprised him. “I would hardly call it a lecture, Ethan—”

“It was—and a damn fine one at that. I suppose you’re due a few more as well, if one were to consider all the times I’ve lectured you over the years.” Ethan’s lips curved up in an ironic smile.

“Your lectures have always been fitting—you are the mentor, after all.”

“Was. Those days were long ago—you are a full-fledged member of the Brotherhood, George, and have been for quite some time.  I fear that I often forget that—and I shouldn’t.”  Ethan glanced up in surprise as the serving girl slid a refresher in front of him—nodding his thanks, he waited until she’d retreated out of earshot before speaking again. “When Cecily died… my world shattered around me. I thought that nothing on earth could compare with the pain… however, now… now I am not nearly as certain.”

Surprised by the turn in conversation, he shot his friend a questioning glance, but held his tongue; he’d learned long ago that Ethan Frye had determinedly locked away certain parts of the past, refusing to revisit them. When it came to the subject of Cecily’s death, his friend had a longstanding habit of withdrawing into himself, shutting everyone—including his children—out completely.

“Though I loved her more than life itself… in the grand scheme of things we were together but a short time—”

“I’d hardly call it short—”

“When compared to knowing someone for every moment of your life… it _was_ short, George.” Ethan sighed—his face betraying the surge of emotions within him. “I think the loss of a womb mate would be even more devastating, don’t you?”

He pondered the notion for a moment, slowly nodding his agreement. “I believe that would be a certainty.”

“They’ve always been so close… there is a synchronicity between them that is almost uncanny…”

“My earlier comment aside, I do believe I have mentioned that numerous times over the years, only to have you call me a superstitious old fool,” he pointed out, smiling.

Completely ignoring the gentle reprimand, Ethan continued as if his friend had not spoken. “That closeness… it is the reason I _must_   act as I do. I must distance them from each other… not just for their sakes… but for my own as well.”

“That closeness is what will make them so extraordinary in a fight,” he argued, frowning. If you—”

“You don’t see the bigger picture! As they are… if one falls in battle… we may well lose them _both_!” Ethan snapped, his voice raising.

He blinked, unaccustomed to hearing his companion speak so heatedly about anything other than the Templars. “We’ve trained them to—”

“Training be damned! Looking back, I can admit that I myself would have faltered had I seen Cecily gutted before me—surely the devastation I would feel in such an instance would be a hundredfold greater at the loss of a twin!” Apparently realizing how loud he’d become, Ethan glanced around—the tension not leaving his shoulders until he made certain no one had overheard their exchange.

“Do you truly believe one would be immobilized if the other were cut down?”

Ethan closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. I’ve played it out in my head time and time again, George, and the outcome is always grim. Were Evie to fall, her brother would be like a berserker—fighting with no thought other than to destroy all before him, only to turn his blade on himself in the end. Should Jacob fall… despite all her logic and reason… despite her skill…  Evie would lose herself at the moment of his death, completely shutting down—do you remember her actions when she thought she’d taken his eye?”

He frowned, remembering the incident far too well—the little girl’s high-pitched, panic filled screams had lingered in his mind for weeks. Clinging to her brother with all her strength, she’d refused to move—he’d had to intercede, physically pulling her off and restraining her so Ethan could assess the damage and sew up the gash that bisected his Jacobs’s brow. “She’s no longer a child, Ethan… she has learned more control since then—”

“Perhaps so, but even if one of them manages to survive such a fight, they would be so crippled by grief that they would mourn themselves to an early grave. I know this instinctively… for I toed that line myself, George.” Ethan’s voice was somber… almost lugubrious—conveying how much of his grief he’d kept hidden within himself for the last thirteen years. “Were it not for having a purpose to occupy me in the wake of losing Cecily… I believe I would have taken steps to join her.”

His breath caught in his throat at the confession; it was rare for Ethan to avouch _any_ form of weakness, let alone something so great. From the moment they’d met, he’d considered Ethan Frye to be the most fearless man he’d ever know, however, in that moment he exposed the single chink in his armor—the one thing that had the power to truly haunt him. He understood the silent message that lingered beneath Ethan’s confession—the mere thought of losing his children was enough to nearly break him. Should such a dreadful thing actually _occur?_ He would never recover from the loss—there would be no working through his grief the way he had mustered up the strength to do when Cecily died—it would be one drop too many in the bucket of sorrows that resided in his soul.

“George? Have I actually shocked you to silence for once?”

“No, sorry—I was thinking about what you said.”

“Do you understand now? Why I must instill a measure of distance between them? A cutoff, if you will—to assure they will still be able to function individually in the event of such a thing.”

Such a thing—he might have snorted at the wording, had the subject not been so dire. The very word Ethan had omitted hung in the air, unspoken, between them.

Death.

It was an ever-looming threat for all of them—that was the comprehension that every member of the Brotherhood faced, right from the start. He wasn’t afraid to die—death was something he’d come to terms with years before; when the time came, he would embrace the reaper with open arms, knowing he’d fought the good fight throughout his life. No, what surprised him was how  the mere _thought_ of losing one of the bright engaging children that he’d come to care for so deeply almost _crippled_   him. The sudden realization that in time, death’s cold embrace could claim the twins just as easily as himself or Ethan—it was a horrible, fearsome feeling—like none he’d ever experienced before.

Scrubbing his face with his palms, he tried to shove the dark, foreboding thoughts from his mind; as his eyes raised, they caught Ethan’s—he watched as the man struggled to compose himself in much the same way. “While your reasoning is sound, Ethan… I still feel your methods are flawed. Negative emotions have no place in a well balanced partnership—hard feelings can turn into distrust and hatred far too easily.”

“I think you’re being overly dramatic—Evie and Jacob could never hate each other, there is far too much love between them.”

“That will change if you keep pitting them against each other in the manner you’ve—”

“If you have another suggestion I would be glad to hear it! God knows I’ve spent far too many nights unable to sleep, searching my mind for an alternative, only to greet the dawn with no solution in sight!”

The serving girl reappeared, granting them a brief reprieve from the discussion; as she set the bowls of steaming soup in front of them, he silently studied his companion—noting for the first time the change in his appearance. The furrows across Ethan’s brow had deepened into prominent grooves, and the shadows beneath his eyes stood out like dark bruises against the pallor of his skin; suddenly, he grasped just how completely he’d misjudged his friend. Ethan was quite obviously plagued by the very methods he’d put into place, having reached the same dismal predictions of their outcome in the long run.

“You look weary, Ethan—perhaps you should get away for a while. Go back to Amritsar—try to mend fences with Mir. The twins could stay with me—”

“I missed far too much of their lives already.” Ethan dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand.”

“Then by all means, take them you—Arbaaz can work with them for a few months, repaying the favor you granted.”

“He didn’t see it as much of a favor in the end, all things considered,” Ethan said, wryly.

“Regardless, you need time off—you look as though you’ve aged a decade in the last year.”

“That’s a fine thing, coming from a man who is five years my senior!”

“Couldn’t tell it by looking at us side by side,” he grumbled, his frustration spilling over. “Why must everything be a battle with you? Even when you know I’m right, you deliberately—”

“I’ll take the twins to the seaside for the weekend—a break from training. Will that satisfy you, _mother_?”

“It’s a start—just barely.” He huffed. “You must take better care of yourself—for the twin’s sake if nothing else.”

“George—Enough. You sound like a nagging fishwife.” Ethan’s tone had an air of finality to it that made it quite clear he considered the subject closed.

Glaring down into his soup, he tried to still his irritation; it was at times like this he missed Cecily the most—only she could make Ethan see reason.

“You’ll go with us, of course?”

“Pardon?”

“To the seaside. Jacob will want to fish—you know I have no patience for that sort of thing.”

Recognizing the offer as a peace offering, he nodded. “Perhaps we can catch a few turtles. One of the benefits of bachelorhood is knowing a few tricks in the kitchen—Evie won’t be nearly as suspicious of me as she might be if my sister suddenly popped up.”

Ethan chuckled, flashing him a smile. “Bloody brilliant idea— she’ll never suspect a thing.. Of course Jacob will probably insist on helping—they both adore spending time with you.”

“The more the merrier. Mind you, whatever we turn out won’t be near as good as this,” he said, indicating their meal, “but it will still taste far better than what she usually ends up with.”

“The slightest improvement will be welcome, believe me—my stomach will thank you.”

Silence fell between them as they ate, broken only by the occasional scrape of spoon against bowl; he was reaching for his pint when an idea popped into his mind—one that might just solve the problem they faced in the easiest, most natural of way.

“Returning to our earlier dilemma, as far as alternative means, Ethan… I believe I might have the solution.”

“Oh?” Ethan looked up, wiping a droplet of soup from his chin.

“A good place to start would be instilling them in separate rooms.” He reached for the plate of bread, tearing off a chunk—using it to mop of the last of his soup. “It’s high time—they are no longer toddlers, needing to share for convenience reasons. They’re at that age when they need separate rooms for modesty’s sake as well as granting them a bit of privacy.”

“They’re twins—they don’t know the meaning of privacy, George. They’ve been together every moment of their lives.” Ethan snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can—the room across the hall would serve the purpose quite well,” he argued. “Close enough for comfort, yet at the same time—”

“You don’t understand—”

“What’s to understand? You’re simply using it to store the overflow of books and papers from your study—”

“I take it you don’t recall what their bedroom used to be?”

There was an edge to Ethan’s words that he couldn’t quite place— not anger, or wariness… but something close enough to be their kin; he contemplated the question, his mind running over the interior of the house, but still, he came up blank. “I’m sorry… no. It’s been a long time—”

“It was Cecily’s study. When she realized she was with child, she insisted it be transformed into a nursery,” Ethan said softly.  Sighing, he pushed away his bowl, as if he’d suddenly lost his appetite. “She thought the way the morning light played through the lead glass in the windows made it the prettiest room in the house.”

“I didn’t realize…” Clearing his throat, he dropped his eyes—it was hard to muster up an argument in the wake of such a declaration, but really, there was no other course he could take. “Still… you must realize they can’t share a room forever.”

“When I came back from India… that was one of the first things I shared with them about her. They were understandably frightened—being left in the care of a father that they didn’t know, in a strange, unfamiliar new place. From the moment we left Lydia’s, they didn’t speak—not to me, at least. They cuddled together, chittering back and forth in a language all their own—watching me with wary, untrusting eyes. When we arrived at the house and they realized that I did not intend to return them to their grandmother… well, it was just too much for them.  I remember they started wailing and sobbing—wrapping their arms around each other as they sank down on the bottom step, refusing to budge.” Ethan closed his eyes—his voice taking on a strange, wistful tone that sounded distant and far away, as if he were lost somewhere in the past. “Even their foreheads and little button noses were pressed together, as if they needed the comfort of sharing each other’s breath. I scooped them up and carried them upstairs—which was difficult, to say the least, since there was no prying them apart—and introduced them to their new bedroom, telling them it was a special present their mother had left them. That she was looking down from Heaven, happy to finally see them in the place she’d prepared for them, because she loved them so very much.”

“Ethan—”

“That room is the only gift Cecily was ever able to give them, George, aside from life itself.”

He shifted uncomfortably, at a loss for words—knowing too well that the very fact Cecily had entered the equation trumped any argument he might present a hundred fold.

“For years, right after their prayers, before they went to sleep… they would thank her for the room, George. So you see… I simply _can’t_   move one of them—I would be stealing away Cecily’s gift.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing his brow—suddenly feeling the overpowering need for something far stronger than ale. “It was a foolish notion to begin with, I suppose… I never considered how they might feel about it.”

“They’d pitch a right fit,” Ethan chuckled—the sound seemed forced, the amusement colored by an undertone of sadness. “Probably never speak to either of us again.”

“Some days, I dare say we would both agree that might not be altogether a bad thing,” he quipped, trying to lighten the somber mood.

“To be honest, I suppose it would pain me as much as the twins. When sleep refuses to take me I often head down to the study, stopping to look in on them—a fatherly urge, needing to make sure they are safe and sound. Seeing them all curled up like a pair of kittens… it lightens my heart, George. It gives me hope.” Ethan flashed a self-deprecating smile. “A foolish notion, I know, but there is something so… so pure about it—as if sleep lulls them back to the close comfort and security they felt in Cecily’s womb. And the innocence of their sleeping faces… it reminds me of the importance in what we fight for.”

“You need make no excuses, Ethan—”

“Perhaps not, but you deserve to know the truth—if anything ever happens to me… now that Lydia is gone…” He shook his head. “They no longer have a grandmother to take them in—their care will fall to you. You should know the full extent of what to expect.”

He stared across the table, struck dumb by the honor Ethan showed him. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am—who else would I trust? More importantly, whom else would Cecily approve of? Arbaaz and Pyara? I think not—with his hot temper and her… well… her manner of keeping her husband in check… if you get my meaning.”  Ethan flushed. “To say nothing of the fact his pigheadedness endangers the life of his own son—either way, they are completely insuitable.”

“Cecily might approve of me over the competition— but you _must_ know that if you left her children with a lifelong bachelor, she would never forgive you. I’d have to hunt down a wife rather quickly to spare you—”

“You joke, but it’s no laughing matter, George. I must be pragmatic about these things—I have to ensure they will be well cared for in the event the worst happens.”

At that moment, revelation struck—he gripped the edge of the table, amazed at how suddenly _everything_  made sense. “Ethan…I’ve just had a moment of clarity. May I speak bluntly?”

“Of course—I would expect nothing less.”

“In all the years I’ve known you… this sudden habit you’ve developed of formulating every tiny detail of your life is a relatively new thing. You weren’t pragmatic about _anything_  before you lost Cecily. The man she loved so dearly was reckless and daring, eagerly courting dangerous situations that any sane man would avoid—he wasn’t overly concerned with trivial matters, and he certainly never wanted to spare a single moment on anything that might require thought over action.”

Ethan frowned. “Your point?”

“There are actually _two_   points—”

“Wonderful… go on then—astound me.”

Ignoring the dry sarcasm, he  remained silent for a moment—enjoying the rarity of being more astute than his former mentor. “Perhaps _that_ in and of itself is the reason you struggle so much of late. The sleepless nights… your haggard appearance… it all stems from the simple fact you have spent _years_ forcing yourself to deny your true nature. Forcing yourself to be something that you are _not.”_

“I could argue that fatherhood brings responsibilities that can’t easily be ignored. One must adapt to the role using any means possible—”

“You can argue until you are blue in the face and gasping for air, Ethan—it won’t change the fact that you are continually trying to fit a square peg into a circular hole that it was never meant to fit in,” he shot back smugly, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair. “Furthermore, by now I’d think you would see how pointless an endeavor it is, since no matter how hard you try to lock that part of yourself away, it _still_   breaks free on occasion—”

“Never where the children can see it—I make bloody sure of that!” Ethan growled—immediately standing and stalking towards the bar without leaving a single mitigation in his wake.

Anyone else might have taken offense at the abrupt departure, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest; when confronted by things he did not want to face, Ethan Frye had a tendency to turn heel and run—not realizing that the very act in and of itself proved far more than words could convey. For the briefest moment, the _real_   Ethan had struggled to the surface—the harshly growled words so much as confirmed it.

“Actions speak far louder than words, old friend,” he called out loudly—watching with amusement as Ethan stormed back to the table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand. “If I were to hazard a guess I would say that you were on the verge of lunging at me—your abrupt departure bought you the time needed to compose yourself? To chain away _instinct_ , replacing it with _reason_?”

“Or I could have wanted something stronger than the watered down excuse for ale they serve here,” Ethan muttered, slapping the glasses down on the table—filling them to the brim. “I believe you said you had two points to make?”

“We’d be best served to finish covering the first before moving on,” he countered, raising the glass to his lips.

“Consider it finished.”

There it was again—the growl was pure Ethan in all his glory, with no sign of the mask comprised of careful thought and reason that he now wore every day. Yet, even as he studied his friend across the table, watching as he downed his drink and refilled the glass, he could sense that Ethan was slowly rebuilding the internal walls that kept that base part of himself caged and hidden from the world.

Sighing, he shook his head—wondering if he should point out that his friend often showed the very same stubborn tenacity that he so oft criticized his children for displaying during training. “You won’t like the second point any better—”

“I don’t doubt it—nevertheless, continue.”

 “I understand now why you’re so much harder on Jacob than Evie. You look at him and you see yourself, Ethan. Not just in his appearance, but in his very nature—the nature you struggle so hard to chain within yourself…”

Ethan glowered at him across the table, looking as though he might be contemplating whapping him upside the head with the bottle clutched so tightly in his hand.

“…and you are determined to spare him all that you went through. You think that if you drive that nature deep into hiding… if you mold him into what you’ve forced yourself to become… he will never be blindsided by grief and pain if he is separated from his sister.”

“How… _exactly_ … did you come to this conclusion?” The words seemed choked out—most probably due to the tension in Ethan’s jaw.

“Aside from all that you’ve shared here, tonight? I suppose the answer would be years of observation—but in the end, that’s not what matters.” He drained his glass, thumping it down on the table. “All that truly matters is that the summary of your actions clearly indicates that you still blame yourself for something uncontrollable, Ethan. No amount of careful planning or meticulous follow through could have prevented Cecily’s death.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips—cursing himself as Ethan’s face drained of color, the furious conviction crumbling away, leaving a broken man in its wake. He should have phrased it better… found a gentler way of—

“I _could have_ prevented it—that’s just it. I _sensed_  there was something amiss, but when she dismissed my concerns…” Ethan’s voice broke—his eyes dropping to the table. “Had I been diligent… focused—”

“They were turned wrong, Ethan—diligence would have done no good. It was no ones fault, except perhaps mother nature herself,” he said.

“That is not as easy to believe as you seem to think, George.”

“I am truly sorry, Ethan, you know that—she was a wonderful woman who loved you implicitly, which is why you _must_ come to terms with what happened and stop clinging to the belief you must be something that you’re not. In doing so you dishonor her in the worst way possible—you are wiping away all trace of the man she adored.”

“I have to do what’s best for the children—”

“By repeating the same mistake with them? Turning them into something they’re not? Look at you—you’re miserable! Do you want the same thing for Jacob and Evie? A lifetime of internal struggle, setting aside their impulses and instincts simply to satisfy your bloody refusal to face the truth?” He slammed his hand on the table, his anger escaping him before he could rein it in.

“George—”

“I am sorry but I have stilled my tongue for far too long—”

“So long that apparently it now refuses to be restrained—”

“Would you kindly stop interrupting me? It’s not at all easy to approach you about these things, Ethan—even harder for me to admit my own shortcomings, but I must do it none the less. From the moment I met you, then Cecily, I _knew_ at once that you both had something I lacked. A brightness burned within you both that I’d never seen before—a spark for life itself that is a rare, precious thing. Jacob and Evie inherited that from the both of you—as soon as you introduced me to them I saw it shining from their eyes even brighter than it once did in yours.”

“You make it sound as though you feel I am ready to be put out to pasture,” Ethan protested. “I am still as firm in my convictions and beliefs as always—”

“That is _not_   what I’m saying and you bloody well know it, Ethan! The simple fact is I haven’t seen that spark in your eyes since the day you told me you were leaving for India. When you remade yourself into _this_.” he waved his hand towards him, unable to hide his frustration. “Even worse, whether intentional or not, you are already dimming that brightness in Evie. I already laid bare how your actions affect her! You have almost broken her spirit and you bloody well seem intent on breaking Jacob’s as—”

“George, stop! Please… just stop.” Ethan held up his hands in supplication. “I understand what you are saying… really, I do—and I swear to you I will think on it, but I’ve had all I can take for one day.”

“I wouldn’t speak on these things if I didn’t truly feel Cecily would want me to intercede—”

“I realize that, and if you want to revisit this conversation at a later date we will… but I simply cannot do it right now. My head is already pounding from all that we’ve dredged up tonight.” Ethan pressed his knuckles against his temples, pain flicking across his face.

A wave of guilt crashed over him—he shouldn’t have pushed so hard, not when Ethan looked so haggard and pale to begin with. “It wasn’t my intention to—”

“I know. No excuses are needed, old friend—provided you’ll forgive me for ending the evening early. I need to get home and retire before this blasted headache sets in too deeply.”

“Of course.” Standing, he tossed a few coins on the table—more than enough to cover their meal and drinks, with some left over to spare.

“You needn’t—”

“I insist. Come on, let’s get you home before the pain gets worse,” he said firmly, snagging the bottle off the table and nodding towards the door.

This time there was no casual chatter of local politics, nor debate about the merits of extending the green; both men were silent—lost in their thoughts. One man regretting his insensitivity, whilst the other struggled to overcome the pain that rode him—reaching over to claim the bottle in hopes that the whiskey might chase back the sharp bite of the headache. Even when they parted at the door with a handclasp, no words passed between them.

As he skirted the far side of the house, heading for the stable at the back of the property, he found he was rather relieved that the evening had come to such an abrupt close. The vexing discussion and turbulent emotions they’d stirred weighed him down immensely—so much that the very thought of the distance he still had to cover before reaching home made him weary to the bone. Even his horse—normally a mild tempered beast, even in the worst of circumstances—seemed to share his enervated mood; it sidled,  tossing its head before rearing up—nearly unseating him in the process.

“None of that,” he chided, his voice soft and soothing, “we’ve got twenty five miles to cover, pretty girl—no time for acting up.” The gentle crooning worked—his mare settled herself almost immediately, shaking her head just once more before falling in to step at the prod of his heels.  Rounding the corner of the house, he was surprised to see Ethan still leaning against the door—surprise laced his friend’s voice as it floated across the gloaming nightfall between them.

“Given the hour, I assumed you’d bed down in the tack room for the night—”

“My own bed is calling me—I’m getting far too old for anything but a proper mattress beneath me, ” he chuckled, smiling—an attempt to reassure that it was indeed the sole reason and nothing else that spurred his leaving; it wouldn’t do for Ethan to think there were harsh feelings lingering between them. “I’ll be back at weeks end.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am… and Ethan? If you put all that I said tonight from your mind… remember this—I swear that I will do whatever it takes to help you keep the twins safe. You won’t lose either of them.” His voice was soft, but his tome was formidable. “We will train them to be the best—Jacob and Evie will become legends, like so many of our Brothers in the past.”

“I’d settle with them living to a ripe old age,” Ethan said, pushing off the wall and moving closer, crossing the space between them. “But you and I both know that probably won’t be the case for any of us—not if we’re going to reclaim London.”

“A wise man once told me to focus on the problem at hand—not on the future problems that might spring up at its heels. I think perhaps he should take his own advice for a change.” He leaned down, clasping Ethan’s shoulder—amusement lacing his words. “The twins will be better than the both of us—but hopefully not until we are far too old for them to challenge.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.” Ethan let out a chuckle, nodding his agreement before swatting the mare on the rump, sending him off towards Croydon with a smile.

During the three hours that lay between Crawley and his own cozy home, he managed to shove aside all the unease and frustration that had welled up over the course of the evening. The steady, rocking pace of his horse and the sound of its footfalls lulled him into something of a hazy stupor—his weariness was so strong that he kept nodding off in the saddle, only to jerk awake as his body began to slump into a more relaxed pose. More than once before he entered Croydon proper, his thoughts strayed to the soft, warm comfort of his bed—perhaps that, in and of itself was the root of the perturbation that filled him at the unexpected site that awaited him when his house finally came into view

Certainly, the _last_ thing he expected—or wanted—to see was the familiar figure lurking in the shadows of his door, waiting to hand off a coded missive—lingering impatiently to await a reply.

“If you’ll see to my horse I’ll get to work on it at once,” he growled, unable to hide his irritation as he dismounted and tossed the reins to the man—storming towards his study and the accursed books of code that he’d needed for deciphering.

It took him far longer than he’d planned; though the message had but one single sentence, the ciphering was one he had not encountered—in truth, it was simple luck that he stumbled across the key buried in the very back of one of the oldest codebooks he had on hand. Sitting back, he stared down at the words, stunned by far more than just their meaning.

_‘Please relay immediately to Ethan Frye: Jayadeep Mir in The Darkness.’_

It could only mean one thing. Finally, as Ethan had predicted, the boy had failed—most assuredly in the worst possible way, thanks to his father’s absolute refusal to listen to sound reason. Though the message clearly indicated that Ethan’s instincts were spot on, completely vindicating him, it would be a hollow victory, at best, given the dire circumstance surrounding it.

Scrubbing his face with his palms in an attempt to clear his head, he glanced back at the coded message—silently marveling at the fact it had managed to reach his hand. It was plain, unaltered truth that Arbaaz Mir would _never_ admit that he was wrong, even if his only child was in danger; likewise, his own pride would prevent him from seeking outside help, regardless of the circumstances—mitigating whatever had occurred would never cross the man’s mind, it simply wasn’t in his nature.

That basic, factual, deductive reasoning eliminated Mir as the sender—leaving only one obvious conclusion. There was only one person would reach out to Ethan for help—what he couldn’t figure out for the life of him was _how_ exactly she’d managed to convince an Assassin messenger to go against her husband, much less do her bidding.

As he scrawled out a response in the exact same code, he couldn’t hold in a snort of irony at the situation; Ethan had vehemently dismissed the idea of returning to India, however, they both should have remembered that nothing in their world was ever quite so cut and dried as it seemed.

He needn’t confer with his friend to know exactly what would happen as soon as he heard the news, nor wonder at all as to how he would react. No matter how hard he fought against it, Ethan Frye was a man of action; he would not waste a single minute weighing the pros and cons of traveling to India to intercede for the boy he’d once mentored—he’d be on the next train to London, heading for the docks without contemplating the decision.

**Internal dispatch sent to Princess Pyara Kaur of Amritsar, from George Westhouse, decoded from the original.**

_Ethan on route, post haste._

Reclaiming his coat, he hurried back outside, pressing the sealed envelope containing his reply into the waiting hand of the messenger. “That is to be delivered in the exact same manner it was sent, to the exact liaison—you understand?”

 “I’ll relay it to our man at the dock.” The Assassin nodded—turning and disappearing into the darkness like a specter.

Glancing toward the stable, he sighed; his horse would never make it back to Crawley—not with the speed that he needed. He’d have to steal another one—and fairly quick. Shoving aside his weariness, George pulled up his hood, slipping into the shadows—consigned to the fact it would be a very long time before he slept.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ethan, Evie and Jacob: The Gift

**Crawley 1 November 1853**

“Have you completely lost your bloody mind, George?”

Seated in his customary chair, he leaned back, making himself more comfortable—trying not to chuckle at the look of outrage Ethan shot him. “Of course not. Really, there’s no need for such dramatics—”

“Clearly there is! That is much too extravagant!” Ethan returned to the window, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re acting as if I purchased one for each of them as opposed to just one for them to share,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You’re going to _spoil_ them! They’ve only been home a few months and already you—”

“They’ll need it for training eventually—better to have them become accustomed while they’re young,” he countered, smirking. “This arguing is really quite pointless—I won’t take no for an answer, Ethan. Unless you feel I have no right to give them a birthday gift—”

“I _will not_ celebrate the day my wife died!” Ethan shouted, slamming his palm against the wall.

He stared across the room, his mouth dropping open—it had honestly never occurred to him that Ethan might refuse to acknowledge the twins’ birthday. “Ethan... you _have_  to. They’re _children_ , for God’s sake!”

“Don’t test me on this, George!”

“Do you honestly think Lydia let the day pass without giving them a birthday tea? Without a little cake and presents?”

“I’m sure she did—however that was her choice, not mine!” Ethan snapped. “If she could dismiss what happened that day—”

“Are you actually implying her daughter’s death meant nothing to her?” He got to his feet, on the verge of crossing the room and shaking some much needed sense into his stubborn arse.

“I am implying that she was able to adapt—I am not.”

“You truly don’t intend to do _anything_? They’ll expect _something_ , Ethan!”

“Then this is a bloody good time for them to lean that nothing in life is guaranteed!”

“Their entire lives have been turned upside down—because of _you_! Because _you_ decided you wanted them back after five and a half bloody _years!_ ” It came out a shout—he didn’t care. Not when the image of two tiny disappointed faced with tear-filled eyes kept playing through his head.

“Lower your voice—”

“I _won’t!_ If you refuse to do this for them then I’ll damned well take them for the day and do it _myself!”_

Ethan shot him a dangerous look. “You will do no such thing! This is _my_ decision to make and no one else’s!”

“We’ll see if Lydia agrees with you! If I have to go all the way to bloody Wales and drag Cecily’s mother back here to make you see reason then that’s what I’ll do, Ethan Frye!” he shot back, storming towards the door—dodging to avoid a shower of glass as the decanter from Ethan’s desk smashed against the doorjamb with a thunderous crash.  

“They are _my_ children George, not _yours!_ ”

The growled words dripped with rage, but it wasn’t the tone that affected him—it was the poisonous sting of what had been said.

A sharp stab of pain pierced his heart, so intense it stole his breath away—in his whole life he never knew that words could hurt so much. Staggering back, the shattered glass crunched under his boots as he sagged against the wall, his eyes locking with Ethan’s. “Next time just bury your blade in my heart—it’ll hurt less.”

“George—”

“I know they’re your children, Ethan, but I’ll never have any of my own.” His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper—the words colored with the sorrow he’d only recently come to understand. “Only twice in my life have I coveted what another man has... I suppose it’s fitting that it’s always been you that drives me to it.”

“You’re only thirty three, George... there’s still time—”

“No.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “When I joined the Brotherhood... I had to make a choice. I knew there would be unavoidable risks—not just for myself, but for those closest to me. I thought it was more important to serve the greater good, Ethan, so I set aside any dreams for a wife and family.” Though it was true, it was but part of the reason—the only part he would ever give voice to.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, appraising him for a moment. “That doesn’t mean you can’t find someone now—”

“I can’t—I know myself. They would become my sole concern—I would lose my focus, and eventually it would cost someone their life.  That is too great a risk to take.”

“I’m sorry... it never occurred to me that you might want children of your own—”

His sharp bark of laughter cut Ethan off. “I never realized it myself—not until you brought Jacob and Evie home. Seeing them... it stirred something in me that has lain dormant for years, reawaking dreams I thought I’d banished. A longing for something I can never have.”

Pushing off the wall, he slowly moved back towards his chair, his misery hanging around him like a shroud as he sank down in the seat. “I will _never_ have what you have, Ethan... and it kills my soul to see you taking it for granted.”

Ethan was silent for a moment—his face shuttered, betraying not the slightest hint of his thoughts. “I would hardly call this situation taking things for granted, George.”

“Then I suppose we will have to agree to disagree. In looking at the example my own parents set... perhaps it’s simply that you are a very different kind of father than mine was.”

“How so, exactly?” Ethan moved back to the window, presenting him with his back—staring out at the gloomy sky.

“My mother died giving birth to my youngest sister,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “She had the same problem Cecily did—Anne was turned wrong.”  
  
“I didn’t know that,” Ethan glanced back over his shoulder, brow wrinkling. “I suppose that’s why you were so shattered when Cecily...”  
  
“I saw your pain and understood it... shared it, to a point. I remember how grief stricken my father was in the years following her death—he never remarried, even though there were seven of us that needed tending. My grandmother and aunt moved in to raise us.” Sighing, he cast a woeful glance at the shattered glass and puddle of liquid on the floor. “Really Ethan... did it have to be the bloody whiskey you tossed?”

“There’s a rather nice port on the sideboard.”

“I’m not that desperate...yet.” He snorted his distaste. “As I was saying, my father was in the same predicament you are, but he always put little Anne’s needs and feelings before his own. We all had the chance to know mother and to love her, while Anne didn’t—Father made sure her birthday celebration was bigger and grander than the rest to make up for that.”

“I take it the moral of the story is that I’m being a selfish bastard?” Ethan asked, dryly.

“If that’s how you choose to take it. I’d much rather you see that bending just a little won’t hurt. If you truly can’t find it in you to celebrate on the ninth then there are other alternatives that don’t deprive the twins.”

“And if I said I didn’t want them to celebrate, but to mourn for their mother that day?”

“Then I’d have to agree that you’d be a selfish bastard. Cecily wouldn’t want them mourning her on that day and you damned well know it, Ethan.”

“Even if I were willing to bend... I still say that gift is too extravagant,” he muttered.

“Well it’s non-returnable, and even if it wasn’t if you think I’m taking it all the way back to Wales, you’re wrong—I had a hard enough time getting it here the first place!”

“Are you telling me you went across the bloody country to—”

“It didn’t cost much more than if I’d—”

“You shouldn’t have wasted the money at all!” Ethan snapped.

For a moment, he simply stared at his friends back, astonished by the comment. “What else do I have to spend it on, Ethan? We’ve already covered the fact I have no children of my own. What’s the point in saving money and building up a nest egg if there’s no one to leave it to? If I die tomorrow it will all just bloody well go to waste!”

“I can always tell when you’re upset with me by the amount of times you swear—”

“Of course I’m upset with you! I set aside my own feelings and—” He caught himself just as his voice broke, betraying him—though not as much as the words almost had. Pausing to clear his throat, he tried desperately to compose himself—but to no avail. “I even picked up and moved to bloody Croydon when you suggested we needed a base there, Ethan.  In all the years of our friendship, time and time again I’ve gone out of my way to assist you in whatever way I could... and not once in all that time have I ever asked you for a single thing in return—not until now. Don’t deny me this one thing, Ethan—let me eek out the barest scrap of what you have, experiencing the joy of your children secondhand. It’s the only thing I’ll ever have—”

“They’ve already managed to wrap you around those pudgy little fingers of theirs, haven’t they?” Ethan sighed, still staring out the window with a scowl on his face. “Just like their mother always managed to do with us both.”

“It’s just a pony, Ethan, not the crown jewels.”

“That’s the ridiculous thing—after all we’ve been through, we’re quarreling over a bloody pony,” Ethan growled. “If it means so much to you then by all means, give them the damned thing—but it will be their birthday _and_ Christmas combined. Understood?”

“Certainly,” he agreed. It was an outright lie—by the time Christmas rolled around, he would simply pretend to have forgotten the agreement.

“Go on and get it ready then—I’ll bundle them up and bring them down in a few minutes.”

“Thank you Ethan—you have no idea how much this means to me.” His voice was full of gratitude, betraying far more than the simple words he’d said. Pushing himself up from the chair, he hurried to the study door, half-afraid Ethan might change his mind and renege.

“George—wait. I have something to ask in return.”

“Of course... whatever you need—”

“I _am_   a selfish bastard. I thought I was finally ready to face everything... but as that day draws closer... it seems I’m not as ready as I believed. The thought of celebrating instead of mourning Cecily on that day... I can’t do it—not yet.”

“What are you saying, Ethan?”

“I want to be alone on the ninth... but I won’t let my mourning spoil things for Jacob and Evie.  I want you to come stay with them for a few days and to make sure their birthday is special, the way their grandmother was sure to do. I’ll go into the city and return when my grief is spent.”

“They’ll wonder why you aren’t—”

“I’m bending as much as I can George. We’ll tell them I had no choice—that it’s business.”

He wanted to accept more than anything—but he couldn’t. “I’m sorry... no.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan’s head whipped around, a look of incredulity on his face. “You bloody well _offered_ to take them! Practically _insisted—_ ”

“I did, but as you pointed out... I’m not their father,” he said softly. “So I have a counter offer for you. I will come here and stay with them, just as you asked, and I will make sure they have a wonderful birthday... but _only_ if you agree to come back that evening and have a small birthday dinner and a pudding with them.”

 “I don’t think I can bear it, George—not yet. It will be the first year that I am around them on that day. Seeing their faces and knowing the great cost...” a flicker of pain crossed Ethan’s face—his jaw tensed. “I’m afraid if I push myself... I’ll start blaming them again, and I swear to you that is the last thing I want to do.”

 “Will you at least _try?_ Even if it’s just making an appearance for the pudding? I promise you that if they think you’ve cut your trip home and rushed back to spend just that little bit of time with them... it will mean more than anything else.”

“I suppose I can agree to that much, at least.” Ethan shot him a skeptical look. “Though I’d very much like to know how you became an expert in how children think.”

He snorted. “I told you—I had six younger brothers and sisters. Now can I go get the pony ready, or are you going to actually make me wait until Christmas to present it?”

“Yes, yes... just don’t plan on passing your fascination with bloody horses off on the twins—I absolutely forbid it!”

As he opened the door, Ethan called out his name, stopping him _again_ —earning a growl in response. “Ethan, I swear to Christ—”

“I’m sorry—I just wanted to thank you.”

“Whatever for? The pony that you already hate?”

“No... thank you for giving Evie and Jacob everything that I _can’t_.”

“For God’s sake Ethan—you could have bought it as easily as I did!”

“I’m not talking about the damned horse, you imbecile!” Ethan growled. “I mean your filling in for me when things are too difficult! I _know_ there are certain things the twins might need that I probably won’t be able to—”

“Such as?”

“Talking about their mother, for one thing.” Ethan said, returning his gaze to the window. “I know that eventually they’ll have questions and...”

“Say no more. I understand.” Automatically, he attempted to alleviate Ethan’s mood—it was almost a reflex to do so. “Though I dare say you don’t want me telling them about the time she challenged us to see who could hold the most Highland whiskey and drank us both under the table—”

 “George! That blasted creature is eating my alyssum!” Ethan’s shout of horror echoed through the room as he threw open the window. “Horse! Get away from there! Tssst!”

“You’re going to spook it!” he growled, sprinting from the room and straight out front door—rounding the corner of the house just in time to see Ethan start to climb out the window with a ferocious scowl on his face. “I’ve got her! Your bloody plants are fine—go get the twins so we can settle her in the stable.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ethan retreated—slamming down the window so hard the glass rattled in the frame.

“You just ignore him—he’s a grouchy old thing, sweetheart,” he crooned, pulling a sugar cube out of his pocket. “Here... much better than his ratty old weeds, I promise.” As the pony nuzzled his palm, he glanced over at the bed of pink and white blooms—wincing at the obvious bald spot. Their tenacity through the changing season had been for naught, thanks to one hungry animal “Well, if he huffs about it we’ll just remind him who was taking care of the place for the past five years, won’t we?” he murmured, scratching the animal behind its ear.

Untethering the pony from the tree, he guided it around to the front of the house, arriving just as the front door opened; Ethan stepped out with Jacob hanging on to one hand and Evie hanging from the other—for a moment he just stood there watching them, quite certain they made the prettiest picture he’d ever seen.

“Look Children! Our dear George brought you a very special present! What do you have to say to him?”

The twins stopped dead still, their eyes locking on the little gray pony.

“For _us?_ ” Jacob asked, tearing his eyes away from the animal glancing up at his father with a look of confusion.

“Yes son—it’s an early birthday present—Christmas too.” Ethan shot him a pointed look across the yard.

“HORSIE!” Evie shrieked gleefully, yanking her hand free and launching herself down the steps—bolting across the yard straight for the pony. “WE GOT A HORSIE JAKEY!

In that moment, it suddenly hit him that she was far too young to realize that horses were skittish things at the best of times—tempestuous at the worst. “Careful lass! You don’t want to—”

His warning came a split second too late; the little girl reached up, grabbing a handful of the silky mane—immediately getting a sharp warning nip on her shoulder. Letting out a earsplitting shriek of pain, she jumped back, promptly tripping over her own feet and landing smack dab on her arse.

Jacob’s reaction was instantaneous—a look of pure fury replaced the excitement on his face, his tiny hands fisting as he launched himself across the yard towards the pony, clearly intent on avenging his sister.

He acted without thought, lunging forward to catch the boy around the waist—scooping him up before he could do irreparable damage. “Calm down lad—”

“It hurt Sissy!” Jacob growled, his tiny body quivering with rage.

“No—it warned her to be gentle,” he corrected—his voice soft and soothing. “Horses are sensitive things, my boy—you must always treat them gently, the same way you’d treat your sister. You wouldn’t wallop her with your fist, would you?”

“No... but—”

“If you are harsh or loud with them even once, they’ll remember it and never fully trust you,” he warned. “You’ll never be able to ride it or hitch it to a cart—”

“We can do that?” A bit of the stiff tension drained from Jacob’s body—he relaxed against him, his head dropping to his shoulder.

“Aye—if you treat her gently you’ll be able to master her Jacob. Would you like to see how to do it?”

The boy nodded, looking completely enchanted by the thought.

Turning his attention from the warm little body cuddled against him, he began slowly moving closer to the animal—the poor thing’s eyes were wide, head tossing as it sidled, trying to distance itself from all the noise.

“There, pretty girl—you’re alright, aren’t you?” he crooned softly, slowly extending his free hand—holding it out  before her muzzle, but not quite touching it. “Evie didn’t mean to scare you... no, she surely didn’t...”

“I do believe Evie was the one scared,” Ethan said dryly from somewhere behind him. “Though it doesn’t appear to have gotten more than her coat”

He turned his head, glancing over at them—Ethan was inspecting the little girls shoulder, stroking her back to calm her. “I’m sorry Evie—I should have thought to prepare you before you came out.”

“Mean horsie,” she grumbled, her lower lip sliding out in a sulk.

“She isn’t really—they simply don’t like loud noises or sudden movement.” A bump against his hand pulled his attention back around—the pony was nudging his palm, demanding attention—earning a soft gasp from Jacob in the process.

“It worked!” the little boy whispered.

“I told you—just have to be gentle,” he murmured back, his hand sliding up to scratch behind an ear.

“Can I try?” Jacob asked softly, his eyes locked on the animal.

“Certainly... just be slow and—”

“Pretty horsie,” Jacob crooned, leaning over and holding out his hand. “I’m gonna be real nice to you. Just don’t bite sissy again... otherwise I’ll have to whomp you something fierce...”

He bit his lip to contain a chuckle, watching as the pony responded to the soft tone of Jacob’s voice—nuzzling and chuffing at his palm.

“It likes me!” Jacob whispered, looking up at him with awe.

“ _She_ likes you. Now you’ll have to give her a proper name... let’s see... Bessie maybe? No—that’s for cows.” He scrunched his face up, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Billy, perhaps? No... that’s for goats. What about—”

“Cici,” Jacob murmured, carefully stroking his hand along the muzzle.

“You can’t call the animal the same thing you call your sister, Jacob—we’ll all get confused,” Ethan said, straightening up and tugging Evie to her feet, scowling crossly when she whimpered. “Stop that sniffling, Evie, you’re fine for God’s sake.”

“Not _Sissy_. Cici.” Jacob looked over his shoulder at his Father. “That’s what Grammy calls Mama.”

Sudden comprehension flickered across Ethan’s face—immediately his eyes darted away to the flowerbed, but the attempt to hide his emotions fell apart, betrayed by the catch in his voice. “My mistake. Cici is an excellent name for such a beautiful animal—well done, son.”

A surge of emotion welled up in him so strong that it made his throat close up and his eyes prickle—he’d bet his eye teeth it had been the same for Ethan, although for a very different reason. Catching his friend’s eye, he nodded his head—giving a silent applaud for how he had handled the moment. “Well done indeed.”

“Down please,” Jacob said, reaching up to pat his cheek.

“You don’t want to ride her?” He asked, lowering the little boy to the ground.

“Yes... but not without Eves,” Jacob whispered, hurrying over to his sister’s side—grabbing her hand. “Come on... I’ll show you how to do it.”

“I don’t want to,” she huffed.

“You’re being _rude_ to dear George,” Jacob hissed, scowling.

“Dear George’s horsie doesn’t like me,” Evie hissed back.

Ethan’s lips twitched. “What was that? What did you just say, darling?”

“Dear George’s horsie—”

Ethan’s loud bark of laugher cut her off; in fact, he laughed so hard he started wheezing. “Did you hear that? They... they think... your name...”

“Shut it,” he hissed, shooting a dark look at his companion.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan cleared his throat, attempting to stop laughing—it took a few tries. “Evie... Jacob... his name is just—”

“Leave it, Ethan,” he growled, cutting him off—grabbing his elbow and steering him away far enough from the twins to be out of earshot. “You can’t correct them now—you’ll just confuse them.”

 “I’m truly sorry—I never meant for them to think that was your name, George, honestly. I was simply trying to reassure them you were a friend. Lydia introduced me the same way, as their _dear_ Father.” Ethan’s lips twitched again. “I assumed it was an understanding they had—a code word, if you will—for people they could trust. Obviously, I was mistaken”

“Well whatever the reason, we’re stuck with it for now—in a few months when they’ve settled in and had time to adjust, we’ll straighten them out.” He glanced over his shoulder, heaving a sigh. “They’re only just warming up to me... I don’t want to risk putting them off.”

Ethan shot him a skeptical look. “Are you _certain_ you don’t mind?”

“Whether I mind or not isn’t important—them being comfortable is.”

“If you’re sure—”

“Dear George! Come help please!” Jacob’s chirpy voice rang out across the yard—immediately, Ethan’s chuckling started up again.

Shooting another ferocious scowl in response to the laughter, he stalked back over to the children—Jacob was stroking the pony, obviously trying to get his sister to do the same, while Evie was being as obstinate and stubborn as Ethan at his worst.

 “Cici got pretty hair just like you Sissy,” the boy crooned, glancing over at Evie as he combed his fingers through the animal’s shaggy mane. “Soft... come see!”

“No! It doesn’t like me!” Her lower lip trembled, her big blue eyes filling with tears.

He glanced back at Ethan, unsure what he should do, only to receive a smirk and a shrug in response.

“This is what you wanted, remember? To experience all that accompanies having two tiny people in your life—including all the little peccadillos that pop up. What kind of friend would I be if I deprived you from one single moment of the experience?”

Shooting Ethan a look that clearly expressed what he thought of the sarcasm, he crouched down next to the twins, motioning for Evie to come closer—chuckling at the stubborn defiance on her face when she shook her head in response. Shrugging his shoulders, he heaved an exaggerated sigh. “No? Oh well then... I suppose I’ll just have to keep the secret to myself.”

Evie shifted from one foot to the other, the wary expression on her face almost immediately giving way to one of intrigue. “You have a secret?”

“I do. I was going to share it with you and no one else, but if—”

“I’d have to tell Jakey,” she huffed—put out at the very notion of not sharing with her brother.

“I know that—obviously telling him doesn’t count since you’re twins,” he shot back, pulling a face.

“Oh... I suppose that’s all right then.” Moving closer, she leaned against his knee—gazing at him with expectant eyes.

“I can hear just fine—so can Cici,” Jacob reassured her, glancing over at their father for a moment before lowering his voice to a whisper. “She won’t tell though, I promise.”

“Mhm—ponies are very good at keeping secrets.” He nodded, trying not to smile. “I don’t suppose you know this... but I was a very good friend of your mother’s for a long time before the two of you were born—”

“You knew Mama?” Evie’s eyes widened, flicking over to her brother. “He knew Mama!”

“I heard,” Jacob whispered back, abandoning the pony to move closer.

“I did—she was as beautiful as a fairy princess, with long dark hair and a fine straight just like yours, Jacob. And there was a dusting of angel kisses across the bridge of that nose and the top of her cheeks—”

“I have those too!” Evie exclaimed, looking excited—tilting her head back and leaning closer to him. “See?”

“I certainly do...” he brushed his fingertip across the freckles on her nose—chuckling when she wiggled it like a rabbit. “Yes indeed—those are just exactly like hers.”

Jacob leaned against his sister’s side, studying her freckles. “I want some too—”

“Oh no, my boy—your mother oft said that if she were blessed with a boy then she wanted him to be the spitting image of his father. Your father doesn’t have freckles, does he?” Both twins shook their heads in response, their movements completely in tune. “Alright then—you wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”

Jacob thought about it for a moment, his little face completely earnest when he finally replied. “No, but I’ll have to grow more so she will be happy—Father is taller than I am.”

“Boys grow quite a bit between the ages of six and twenty eight, so I think you’ll be fine on that account. You’ll grow to be just as tall, if not taller.” He nodded to give strength to the statement. “You’ve both got something else like your mother as well—something that was very dear to her.”

“A brother?” Evie guessed.

“No—he said both, and I don’t have one of those,” Jacob pointed out.

“I wasn’t talking about siblings,” he said, wondering how in the world Ethan ever managed to tell them a single story with all their interrupting. “What she had was a pretty gray Welsh pony that she adored. Her face lit up when she spoke of it.”

“She did?” Evie’s eyes darted to the animal, then back again.

“Aye. So when I realized the two of you had a birthday coming up, do you know what I did? I said to myself, ‘I wonder what Cecily would want them to have’—and the answer came to me all at once, almost as if she sent it into my head.”

“Really?” Jacob whispered, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“As sure as we’re standing here. So I set out that very day and got you that pony—”

“Cici,” Evie said, looking over at the animal again—worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

“Mhm—Cici. I’m very sorry you don’t like her—”

“She doesn’t like _me_ ,” she corrected primly.

“Well I don’t think that’s the case at all, lass. I think it might be my fault entirely for giving her sugar cubes.” His hand dove into his pocket, retrieving one of the small, sweet, squares, holding it out for them to see. “Poor Cici saw you coming and just had to see if you tasted as sweet as you looked.”

Evie giggled, clapping her hand over her mouth, while Jacob rolled his eyes, huffing. “Horsies don’t eat people—everyone knows that!”

“I don’t know about that, boyo—I seem to recall my gran teaching me a rhyme when I was your age. Something about little girls being made up of everything nice, like sugar and spice—perhaps that’s what confused your Cici, since sugar is her favorite treat.”

Evie turned her head, glancing at the pony, her eyes full of longing as her hand claimed her twin’s.  “You won’t let her bite me again?”

“She won’t! She’s very sorry, really she is,” Jacob said, spouting out the words so quickly they almost jumbled together—bouncing in place as his excitement overwhelmed him. “Dear George will teach you, just like he taught me!”

“Alright... I trust you.” Evie said, her lips slowly twitching up to favor her brother with a smile that was full of just that emotion, with a heaping measure of adoration added for good measure.

“Let’s start with you giving her a peace offering, dove,” he murmured, pressing the sugar cube into her hand, pulling her up with him and securing her on his hip—ignoring her brother’s hiss of displeasure as her hand slipped from his. Moving closer to the pony, he began introducing the two skittish creatures to each other in the same slow, gentle manner he’d used with her twin.

Before the hour was past, he had them both straddling the animal’s broad back; with Jacob in the front and Evie hanging on to her brother’s waist for dear life, he led them around the yard, patiently explaining how to guide the animal using the reins and the lightest of touches. Another half hour and he felt confident enough to let Jacob take over—much to the lad’s delight, since the boy had only insisted he was ready at least a dozen times; keeping a wary eye on them, he moved over to sink down on the porch steps next to Ethan, watching as they made slow circles round the yard.

“Careful to keep her out of the flowerbeds, Jacob—we don’t want your father having a conniption,” he called out as they veered dangerously close to the spot where the pony had grazed before.

Beside him, Ethan snorted, leaning back on his elbows—stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’d forgotten all about Cecily’s love for that bloody pony. She cried a river of tears over leaving it behind.”

He arched a brow—clearly, Ethan’s hearing was far sharper than he’d realized. “She did?”

“Mhmm... she was more upset about leaving her Stormy than she was over leaving her family—I don’t know how that could have slipped my mind so easily.” Ethan smiled sadly, glancing over at him. “That’s something the two of you had in common that I could never understand, myself. I never thought of horses other than as a means of transportation... but she saw more in them. She loved the blasted things, the same way you do. I wish... ah, never mind—I suppose it’s foolish for me to be envious that you shared that with her and I couldn’t, all things considered.”

“It’s nothing to fret about, Ethan—really. She only mentioned it in passing—remember, when she insisted you follow that lead she’d found?  You asked me to look in on her while you went to Yorkshire—”

“I shouldn’t have gone—”

“None of that nonsense—it was long before she was due and you and I both know there was no way she’d let you refuse, Ethan Frye. She was even more stubborn than you at your worst.” A chuckle escaped him at the huff of displeasure the comment earned. “That was when she told me—I made it a point to stop by around suppertime to keep her company, and one evening the talk turned to things we remembered from childhood.”

“That’s why you went to Wales, isn’t it? You went to Christopher’s farm. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t simply go down the road and buy one of  Chesney’s cobs...”

He nodded. “She planned on going to Wales to get the babe a pony from her uncle—just like the one  he gave her—as soon as it was old enough to learn to ride.” Smiling sadly, he glanced over at his friend. “Six years was the age she speculated would be right—the same age she’d been. It was what she wanted, Ethan, so it was the least that I could do.”

“You should have just told me all this from the bloody get go and saved us both a headache.” Ethan grumbled, “To say nothing of the wasted whiskey.”

“Maybe I should have... but I know Cecily is far too painful a subject for you most days.” He was silent for a moment, staring down at his hands—his voice so low it was almost a whisper when he continued. “You aren’t the only one who cared about her, Ethan—I miss her too. Not for the same reasons you do, of course, but just the same... it was like losing one of my own sisters that day.”

Ethan snorted. “George, I really wish you’d stop hiding your true feelings and assuming I’m too blind and stupid to see the truth—it’s rather insulting.”

He froze, every muscle in his body going rigid with tension—feeling for all the world like he’d just fallen through a patch of thin ice into the frigid water beneath. Taking a slow breath, his eyes flicked away as he tried to bluff his way through the moment. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You may very well have made certain decisions when you joined the Brotherhood, but the true reason you’ve remained a bachelor is because your heart is buried in the churchyard, right alongside mine, in the very same grave,” Ethan said, his voice as matter of face as if he were discussing the weather. “I know you loved her—I’ve always known it. Furthermore, I never held you at fault for it. How could I when I understood far too well how easy it was to do so?”

His jaw tensed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—” 

“I will _not_ spend the next fifty years tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, George—I simply refuse. It’s tiring and senseless. You loved her, I loved her, and the both of us still do and always will—and that is that.”

His hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles popped in audible protest. “I did my best to ignore it... to deny it even existed. I never would have said anything—”

“That’s rather obvious since I had to browbeat you into admitting it,” Ethan said dryly. “I probably wouldn’t have confronted you with it for another ten years... but watching you with the children made me realize how cruel my words were earlier. I’m truly sorry for that—my temper snapped and they were out before I could stop them. I didn’t mean it the way you took it—I do hope you believe that. I would never throw Cecily bearing my children in your face, I’m not that heartless. ”

“I suppose this means I can finally admit that I felt betrayed when you left for India. I understood why you did it, but I lost you both in one fell swoop, and it nearly destroyed me. I didn’t have anyone to mourn with... nothing to distract me from my pain—all I could do was wallow in it.” He risked a glance from the corner of his eye—wondering if Ethan was truly as calm and matter of fact over the situation as he seemed. “And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough in and of itself, Lydia whisked the babes off to Wales...”

Ethan sighed. “I know, George—that is truly something I regret. As much as I’d like to say I’ve learned from past mistakes... we both know that would be an outright lie. When my grief becomes too great... it blots out everything else; in those moments, I remember nothing but my misery and loneliness, every part of me pining to have her back again.”

“You do have a tiny piece of her back, Ethan. She lives on in her children. When they look at me... sometimes, I can almost see a part of her soul flickering in their eyes, and a part of yours as well.”

“That might be almost poetic if not for the fact I’m not dead, George—my soul is still firmly affixed, though I dare say it’s probably black with tarnish.”

“Conception is a miracle in and of itself—who’s to say that a tiny bit of the parent’s souls don’t weave together within the planted seed?” he mused.

“Good God George—next thing you’ll be rambling about rebirth and ripples in time like Pyara. I’ve no time for myths and fallacy,” Ethan snorted, rolling his eyes.

  “I would think you wouldn’t be so dismissive of what she said, all things considered,” he muttered, the words colored by his wounded feelings from the derisive rebuff.

“Meaning?”

“Having one of _them_ use her as a vassal... surely that would expose her to things that are far beyond our understanding. Who knows what she might have glimpsed—”

“Utter hogwash—”

“Are you suggesting she lied? Arbaaz too?”

“A princess brought up pampered and sheltered in the Imperial Palace, suddenly exposed to extreme violence—I think it’s far more likely that she witnessed the same lightshow everyone else did, and in her rattled state, her imagination took flight.” Ethan’s tone was drier than the desert sands in the woman’s homeland.

“Arbaaz is hardly unused to violence—yet his story is the same as hers,” he countered.

“It all boils down to a matter of belief. Are the artifacts capable of amazing things? Undoubtedly. However, I don’t put much stock in the notion that they can enable Those Who Came Before to take total control over one’s physical body, claiming it as their own for a time and negating the person’s free will completely while giving access to an untapped source of depthless knowledge second hand. If we want to learn from the artifacts we must puzzle it out ourselves—not simply sit back and absorb it with no effort.”

He shrugged. “Whether or not it’s true really has no bearing on my initial point. You don’t have to believe what I say, but that doesn’t change what I _see_ when I look in their eyes.”

“Touché.” Ethan cleared his throat, his finger beating out a nervous rhythm on his knee. “I’ve been thinking... would you be too terribly upset if I amended our earlier agreement?”

The high pitched, happy giggles coming from the twins filled the silence that fell in the wake of the question as he pondered how to respond. “I suppose I’d have to say that depends on what you have in mind. I would never presume to tell you how to raise the twins, I hope you know that... but in this instance... I truly believe Cecily would be upset, Ethan. Knowing that she was the reason for their being deprived having their special day acknowledged would outrage her—”

“I’m beginning to realize that—and given light of today’s events... I do believe I’ll be able to handle that birthday dinner you suggested.” Ethan’s lips quirked up in the barest glimmer of a smile. “In fact... I might just tag along all day.”

“Dare I ask what made you change your mind?” He narrowed his eyes, having the strongest suspicion his leg was being pulled—the mischievous glint that appeared in Ethan’s eyes practically confirmed it as fact.

“While you were prancing them around the yard, I was picturing exactly how that dinner might play out. It’s almost a certainty you’ll have the same trouble I do each night—they chatter back and forth like magpies, and ask question after question—”

“I would think you’d be pleased by that—surely such inquisitiveness indicates they have sharp minds?”

“At not quite six they don’t exactly ask well thought out questions, George. They ask things like ‘why is the soup brown instead of red like Grammy’s,’ or ‘why do I call it dinner and not supper the way Grampy did’. That doesn’t make for scintillating conversation, and neither do the constant requests for me to pass them things they have no need of. I believe Lydia must have been working on their table manners, so they’re trying to show them off and be proper, but still... it can get a bit grating at times.”

“I see—”

“I dare say you don’t, however, you soon will. As I was picturing how you might fit in with that charming little tableau, I realized how many times the words ‘dear George’ would be tossed out...” Ethan chuckled. “In all likelihood, I believe that I’ll be so amused that it might be enough to distract me from... you know.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Ethan, if it will help you cope with things, I swear I’ll march them up and down the green and have them shout ‘dear George’ repeatedly, at the top of their lungs in front of God and the entirety of Crawley.”

Ethan flashed him a fond grin. “You would do that, wouldn’t you? I’m a lucky man to have such a friend.”

“You’re a lucky man to have those two little imps here to give your life meaning. You’d do well to remember that—it’s far more important than anything else.”

“No Cici! Bad girl!”

The worry in Jacob’s voice jerked his head around—instantly, he groaned. The pony had rediscovered Ethan’s alyssum and was attacking it with renewed vigor. “Looks like she worked up an appetite—I’d best get her settled in the stable before she eats them down to the roots.” He muttered apologetically, pushing himself up off the step.

“Just leave her be, George—they’re enjoying themselves. I haven’t heard them laugh this much since I brought them home.”

Glancing back at Ethan, he was unable to hide his surprise. “But your flowers—”

“It’s only fitting she’s so drawn to them, given the name Jacob chose.” Ethan watched the pony nibbled at the delicate pink and white blooms for a moment, lips curving up in another sad smile—eyes flicking over to meet his. “The alyssum were always Cecily’s favorite.”

An ocean of unspoken grief passed across that gaze, ebbing and flowing between them like the tide—for the first time, they truly shared the desolation that each had unsuccessfully struggled to conquer on their own. In that moment, he realized something—and he saw the same comprehension mirrored in Ethan’s eyes. The pain of all that had been lost would never truly fade—but rather than drown from its intensity, together, they might learn to manage it.

Through the strength of their friendship and the sharing of their grief, finally, the healing could begin.

And _that_ was what the woman they both loved would want.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Ethan: Observation

 

**Crawley, Spring 1863**

**WHEN ETHAN SUGGESTED THE NEED** for a base of operation in Croydon, he never questioned the validity of the statement; indeed, with Starrick branching his operations out from London proper, having someone in the vicinity to observe and keep a detailed account of any Templar comings and goings was a something of a necessity. Likewise, Ethan’s desire to keep his children as detached as possible from the outside world and the Brotherhood itself was understandable—he wanted to protect them, while fully focusing on their education and training. It made sense to have a base halfway between London and Crawley—it would be far easier for Assassin messengers to use Croydon as an outpost of sorts, avoiding Crawley altogether. He shared his friends desire to shelter and protect the twins, agreeing that they need not be exposed to the plethora of less than savory characters the Brotherhood sometimes employed, however, for the most part, his reasoning was of an altogether different sort than Ethan’s. That reasoning in and of itself was an ongoing cause of disagreement between the two men that would most certainly never fade.

At times, Ethan seemed to have blinders on with regard to the methods he employed  while preparing his son and daughter for the Assassins they would one day become; he was a strict and unyielding taskmaster, his focus so intense that at times it toed the line of sheer obsession. In his desire to make them the very best, he oft seemed to overlook the most important thing—they were  _children,_ and as such, needed some semblance of a normal life outside their lessons and training. They needed time to enjoy their youth before it slipped away and was gone forever; they needed to play and socialize with other children—not the constant cloistered environment that Ethan demanded at all times. Their father considered friendships a distraction and a waste of time, arguing that the twins didn’t  _want_  the company of outsiders, and to be fair, he it was a valid point since the children had a territorial streak towards each other that could be quite feral at times—however, that didn’t lessen the importance of proper socialization. It was a point of contention that could not be resolved—still, at times he found it impossible to hold his tongue, though he knew it would do no good.

Ethan loved the twins beyond reason—that was undeniable, however, he tended to view them not as they were in the present, but how they would be in the future; he saw Jacob and Evie as a secret weapon of sorts—they would be his legacy to the Brotherhood, succeeding where he had failed. That was the primary difference between their viewpoints and where they completely diverged; when he looked at the twins, he didn’t see weapons or Ethan’s Assassin legacy at all, he saw something far more important— _Cecily’s_ legacy to the _world._  He was determined to do his part in making sure they had a bit of fun as they grew, despite Ethan’s constant carping about wasted time, because it was the right thing to do, and it was one of the things that their mother would want for them.

Deep down, he knew Cecily would want to keep the ugly side of the Brotherhood away from the twins for as long as possible, so he honored Ethan’s request, packing up his life and moving the twenty miles to Croydon with nary a complaint—but that didn’t mean he was happy about it, not in the least. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t like it one bit—he’d spent his life in Crawley, just like his father and his grandfather before him; every acquaintance he had  lived there, and he had no desire to start all over again with unfamiliar faces in a new town. He’d reside in bloody Croydon, monitoring Starricks’s activities, and he would do what he could to keep the Brotherhoods activities away from Crawley and the twins, but whatever free time he had would be spent in the familiar comfort of his old home, despite the inconvenient travel time required.

As such, on one particularly boring Sunday when nothing was going on, he didn’t opt to visit the pub down the way, or head down to the square in search of something to occupy his time—instead he headed for the depot, hopping the train to Crawley, pleased by the thought of spending the day with Ethan and the children. It was something he did often enough—Ethan could be occasionally be cajoled away from his books for a game of chess or hand of cards, even an impromptu sparring session to keep them both in tip top shape. On the rare occasion his old friend was feeling contrary, the twins were always up for a walk to the confectionary on the High Street, lured by the unspoken promise of the sweet treats he’d fill their pockets with. They knew far too well that he found it hard to deny them anything they asked when they arranged their features in matching expressions of silent pleading.

However, when he arrived at the house, no one answered his knocking, which was more than a bit peculiar—it didn’t deter him in the slightest, of course, he simply used his key, walking right in. The house was quiet, which was even odder than the unanswered knock; usually, even if Ethan was engrossed in a manuscript there would be some type of ambient noise coming from the twins—the sound of Evie humming in the kitchen, or the scuffle of Jacob’s feet on the floorboards as he parried with an imagined opponent along the hall.

Peeking his head around the door to Ethan’s study, he was surprised to find it empty; that in and of itself was a rarity that couldn’t easily be overlooked—he knew his friend had no mission currently assigned, and there’d been no sound of training coming from the grounds behind the house. The back of his neck prickled with unease, making him wonder if there was something he’d missed; of late, he’d had word that the Templars had been scouring London for any sign of the Brotherhood trying to gain a foothold—but that was in the city, almost forty miles away. There was no reason to think they’d tracked Ethan down to his home—no reason to panic, not yet.

His eyes flicked around the room, cataloging its condition—nothing out of place, no chairs overturned or papers strewn about, and most importantly, no trace of blood. He shifted, prepared to check the house room by room in the same manner, starting with the kitchen, when a faint bang came from somewhere upstairs—the sound almost muffled, like a book or boot dropped against a rug; he followed it, heading up the stairs, pausing at the top and trying to discern which direction it came from. Another sound came—a loud scritch—from directly above his head. There was no mistaking  _that_   sound—a wooden crate scraping the floor. What were they looking for—the secrets stashed in Ethan’s books and papers? Perhaps the list of possible artifacts Cecily had compiled, with educated guesses as to where they might be found?

Moving down the hall, then up the final narrow flight, he bypassed the small room beneath the eaves that served as a classroom for the twins, heading for the attic space itself—the muscles in his forearm tensing as he prepared to engage his blade. He moved across the dim space, weaving between stacks of wooden crates and furniture draped in sheets as silent and light on his feet as a cat—only to let at a snort of relief at the sight that awaited him in the shadows.

There Ethan sat, perched on the edge of one of the wooden packing crates, staring out the window with a befuddled look on his face.

“I thought bloody Templars had invaded and here you sit like a spider in the dark—”

“Good God George!” Ethan’s head snapped around, his cheeks flaring. “You scared ten years off me!”

“I knocked—no one came to greet me,” he huffed, the words tinged with disapproval.

“Did we have plans?”

“No, but I was bored senseless. Thought you might be up for a game—”

“Mhmm... in a bit, perhaps.” With that, Ethan returned his attention to the window.

“You’d rather do this than play a round or two of old heck?” He scoffed, tugging over another wooden crate—sinking down on it with a groan. “What exactly—”

“Observing,” Ethan replied.

He eyed him for a moment, wondering if perhaps his friend had been hitting the whiskey a bit early in the day. “Observing... what? The blasted sky?”

“The twins, of course.”

Scooting his crate closer, he glanced out the window—his brow immediately wrinkling; sure enough, the twins were in the garden down below, holding hands as they wandered amidst the spring blooms. That wasn’t the puzzling thing, of course—they’d always been joined at the hip, taking comfort in the smallest of touches and cuddling up together whenever the opportunity arose. Personally, he sometimes wondered if they needed more comfort from each other than was usual to make up for the fact Ethan wasn’t inclined towards that sort of warm affection. It wasn’t that their father was intentionally cold, per say, his natural demeanor was simply aloof and standoffish at the best of times—but he’d most definitely become more detached and unapproachable after Cecily’s death.

No, it wasn’t the hand holding that troubled him, or the way they leaned in to each other, arms pressed together as they walked—that was simply their natural state. What confused him was that he didn’t see much at all worth observing at the moment—certainly not anything worth postponing a bit of fun over.

“Are they supposed to be sparring or training? I thought we’d agreed they should have Sundays off for leisurely pursuits,” he asked, unable keep the disapproval he felt from his voice. If Ethan had decided that the free Sunday hours were time wasted that should be spent on training, they were going to have words.

“No, Sundays are their still their own,” Ethan mumbled, resting his chin on his hand.

“Then what the bloody hell are we observing, Ethan? The way they react to the petunias?” It made no sense. It was one thing to hide and watch the children to monitor their technique—they did that often enough for it to be commonplace, making note of what bad habits their form had taken on and the areas needing improvement and more work. But there was absolutely no sense in watching when they weren’t doing anything particularly interesting.

Ethan growled. “Stop asking so many bloody questions, George! I’m trying to figure something out and it’s damned near impossible with your chattering in my ear!”

 “Well there’s no need to be nasty about it—if you’d give me some inkling what it is that you’re trying to work out I might be able to help,” he said sulkily.

“If I knew what it was then I’d tell you—I don’t,” Ethan shot back. “It’s like an itch in my brain that I can’t scratch and it’s driving me mad.”

“You’re the one who always says to retrace your steps to the beginning. When did it start?”

“Last Sunday. They headed out for a picnic by the pond and something about the way they looked as they walked out the door just implanted itself in my head. It reminded me of something... but I can’t figure out what,” Ethan muttered, scratching his cheek. “And it’s not just that... they’ve been acting differently of late, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is that’s changed.”

“Oh? How so?

“I just bloody well said I’m not sure!”

He huffed, returning his attention to the window; Evie’s laughter floated up from below, intermingled with playful shrieks as Jacob chased after her. Even as he watched, the lad lunged forward and caught her about the waist, lifting her up and spinning her around, smiling up at her as she giggled.

“I can tell you exactly what they reminded you of Ethan,” he said softly, still watching the twins.

“What—no, wait, don’t tell me! let me figure it out myself.” Ethan leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he peered down at the twins. A moment later, he huffed with irritation. “Give me a hint—not a big one, mind you, just something to put me on the right track.”

“Squint your eyes a bit while you watch them... it will come to you.” His voice was tense—there was no disguising it. Watching the children had suddenly propelled him back in time, reminding him of the aching envy he’d felt for so many years.

Down below, the spinning stopped—Jacob collapsed flat on his back in the lavender that grew in profusion, tugging his sister down with him, her hair falling around them like a dark, silky curtain. A heartbeat later, Evie tossed her hair back, her head ducking down, giggling as she rubbed her nose against her twin’s. They seemed blissfully happy and content, so much so that it made his heart twist in his chest as he watched them—in a sense, he supposed that he’d seen it coming, but had shoved aside his suspicions, determined to believe that his assessment was far too outlandish to be right, fervently hoping that was the case.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing—that was hardly a hint, George,” Ethan sniffed reproachfully.

“Tell me something first... they’re at that age where they should be noticing...” he paused, searching for the right words—shaking his head, already knowing what the answer would be. “No, never mind, of course they haven’t—you’ve seen to that quite thoroughly.”

“I’ve seen to what exactly? If you are going to be accusatory, I believe I deserve to know what it’s about, don’t you think?”

“They are at the age where they should be noticing the opposite sex, Ethan, but you’ve bloody well hammered it into their heads that that’s not allowed,” he snapped—it came out more forcefully than he’d intended. “No distractions, no friendships—no outside attachments of any kind!”

“You’re damned right I have—and I’ll continue to do so! You’re the one who’s always stressing the importance their synergetic nature and how valuable an asset a partnership of congruous assassins is to the Brotherhood, George—and you’re right. Jacob and Evie are the most perfect team imaginable—they function as a single unit, strengths and weaknesses blending and merging in a way that makes them unstoppable together. Outside attachments would interfere with that symbiosis, destroying it completely—it would be bloody disastrous!”

“They’re entitled to a  _life_ outside the Brotherhood, Ethan!”

“Let me present you with cold, hard logic, George, before you toss out that nonsense—what is one of the basest human reaction?” Ethan countered.

“Anger,” he shot back, feeling more than a flicker of just that in his gut; he _hated_ it when his friend went into schoolmaster mode—it made him feel stupid and foolish.

“That’s one, but technically it springs from other emotions—anger doesn’t just pop up for no reason, there is always something fueling it.” Ethan smirked. “I was thinking of an emotion you and I were both far too familiar with in our youths, one that very well could have led to our being enemies instead of friends, were we lesser men.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, automatically catching on. “Jealousy.”

“Very good. Now, think about the twin’s relationship—look at them down there, rolling around and cuddling. Can you honestly imagine anyone understanding that behavior?  An outsider would feel threatened by the very closeness that makes Jacob and Evie’s partnership so unique—their jealousy would make them take means to distance the twins from each other, and that is something that _cannot_   be allowed under any circumstances. In turn, that would spark off their territorial nature, spawning anger and jealousy between them, hindering their ability to function together. The closeness of their relationship will make their partnership a masterpiece, George—and I will take whatever means I have to in order to protect it!”

He mulled over the argument in his head, weighing it for validity. “I suppose you’re right—I didn’t stop to consider their possessiveness towards each other.”

“Exactly—it would be a disaster of biblical proportions,” Ethan scowled at the thought. “Which is why it must not happen. If need be I will step in and handle the situation myself.”

“I doubt you’d have to—my guess would be they’d gut anyone who even attempted to come between them.”

“If it came even close to that point, one of us would have to intercede,” Ethan said, eyes dropping pointedly to the faint scar on his hand. “They’d be wild and full of rage, not thinking things through—it would wind up being worse than even that incident you had with those lads from Merton.”

His cheeks heated at the reminder. “I don’t recall you sounding quite so judgmental when Cecily relayed the story.”

“I’m not being judgmental in the slightest—I’m merely making a comparison, George. Cecily said their encampment looked like a slaughterhouse by the time she’d dressed and caught up with you—are you saying you can’t see Jacob or Evie being capable of that same level of fury?”

He was silent for a moment, trying to rein in the anger that stirred at the memories. It hadn’t been Ethan’s fault in the slightest—he knew that—it had simply been a case of bad timing all around. However, even after so many years, it was hard not to lash out at his friend, laying the blame for what  _might_ have happened right at Ethan’s feet. “I’m saying you shouldn’t have left your sixteen year old fiancé alone in this bloody house while you went traipsing of to  India!”

“I had no choice in the matter and you damned well know it—my father  _insisted_  I accompany him, and he assured me he’d spoken with the town watchmen to make certain they’d watch the house carefully! Between that and bloody Nellie Goodwin with her nosey ways across the road, there should have been eyes on the house at all times.” Ethan narrowed his eyes, shooting him a look. “Beside, I think you’re overlooking the most important factor in that particular equation—did you really think I hadn’t taken _you_   into consideration, George? I wouldn’t have got on the blasted boat if I hadn’t been certain you’d be looking out for her in my absence... and you did.”

“If I’d been five minutes later—”

“She would have killed the bastard herself,” Ethan interrupted. “She was more than capable and you know it—she slept with those bloody daggers she loved so much under her pillow.”

“I still say I didn’t overreact—after he ran off it took me a good half hour to track him. By the time I reached their camp he’d rallied the others to return with him determined to seek retribution for the beating I gave him. They intended to overpower me and enter the house, Ethan. Eight lads in their twenties verses a young girl—she’d honed her skills, but the odds were against her. I had no choice—I had to kill them all to keep her safe.” It came out a defensive growl, but he didn’t care in the slightest.

“George, you’re not _hearing_ me! I am not condemning your actions at all—if anything, I’m jealous that you killed them and not me! I was simply trying to make a bloody _point_.” Ethan’s sharp tome clearly indicated his patience was wearing thin. “I am saying that if you put the twins in a similar circumstance when they are in the midst of one of their snits, it will make your actions that night look mild by comparison!”

He stared down at the floor, trying to compose himself—not daring to look up until the tension in his jaw loosened and his anger had ebbed back. “You’re right... and that should be your bloody hint right there in and of itself, Ethan.”

Ethan blinked, his brow wrinkling. “What in the blazes does that mean?”

“It means you just compared the protectiveness I felt towards Cecily to that of your children for each other, Ethan,” he said softly staring out the window. “You don’t find that a bit odd?”

Ethan frowned. “No... should I?”

He sighed, scrubbing his face with his palms—for an intelligent man, Ethan could be fairly obtuse about the simplest, most clear-cut things. He took a deep breath, suddenly realizing perhaps there might be a far better way to make his point without the discussion dissolving into an argument or pointless debate. “Alright, let’s look at this from another angle. I believe you’ve overlooked one fairly obvious detail, Ethan—they’re still young, but eventually they will start to have... _needs_... if you get my meaning?”

“Mhmm, certainly—but I’ve made sure to instill the importance of control with regard to _all_ things in them both, so I don’t see it being a problem. From an educational standpoint, they’ve both been apprised of the basics, correct? I seem to remember you informing me of that when I returned from my emergency trip.” Ethan’s tone was almost acerbic. “You made sure they understood—”

“Well it wasn’t so much me as it was Agatha. I simply—”

“Excuse me... do you mean Agatha as in Mrs. Johnson? The bloody old woman who owns the  White Hart?”

“Aye, you see I—”

“I _distinctly_  remember you telling me upon my return from Amritsar that Evie had begun her menses and that you made sure—”

“I did the bloody best I could—how in the hell was I to know you hadn’t set them down to discuss what was coming? I didn’t know what to tell the lass and I certainly didn’t know what to do about the bleeding, Ethan!”

“I don’t see what that has to do with that woman educating my boy,” Ethan growled. “You said—”

“If you would quit interrupting I would be happy to clarify!” He snapped, waiting a moment for the words to sink in. “It was only an hour or so after you left that it happened—in the wee hours of the morning. I did the only thing I could think to do and ran and fetched Agatha to explain things to Evie and to show her how to tend herself properly. And she and I  _tried_  to get Jake to leave the room and go downstairs with me while the explaining commenced—I  _intended_  to have a man to man with him in your study, but if you think for one minute he was going to leave her side while she was bleeding and in pain then you’re a fool. He was positive she as dying and was clinging to her like a creeping fig and that’s all there was to it. It seemed more prudent to let Agatha handle things, calming them both down in the process.”

“God only knows what kind of ridiculous nonsense that crazy old woman filled their heads with—”

“I believe she was rather thorough,” he said sarcastically, “since your son wouldn’t even let me  set foot in the bedroom afterwards. He was convinced he had to protect her from every male within a twenty mile radius, including _me._  How was it he put it? Ah yes... ‘it was his job to protect her from the boys who’d come sniffing around, wanting to put a baby in her’. I thought he was pulling a joke until he bloody well attacked me when I tried to bring her a bowl of warm broth and bread—I wound up _wearing_   most of it.”

Ethan’s sudden burst of laughter caught him off guard—he narrowed his eyes shooting the other man the most filthy look he could manage. “I fail to see what’s so amusing.”

“I’m sorry... but the image of _you_ , a _Master Assassin,”_ Ethan  choked out, “being taken down by an irate thirteen year old boy...”

“Says you—I  didn’t have a change of clothes with me. I stunk of souring beef broth for a solid week since your son wouldn’t let her out of the house and I wasn’t about to leave them unsupervised. I had to wait until her menses passed before I was _allowed_  in her presence again—then we were off to Croydon so I could pack up a satchel to see me through the rest of the visit.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you told me you made certain he understood—that he knew what changes to expect in himself.” Ethan took a deep breath, swiping at his eyes—still looking far too amused.

“I gave him a book while we were at my house—same one my father gave me,” he grumbled. “A translation of a French manuscript.”

“That might be reassuring were it not for the fact you happened to be almost illiterate when we met, George.” Ethan arched a brow. “Should I assume you read it _after_   Cecily and I brought your education up to the proper level?”

“It had illustrations,” he mumbled, cheeks heating.

Ethan’s mouth dropped open—for a moment he simply stared, then started sputtering indignantly. “Are you saying you gave my thirteen year old son a dirty French—”

“Not _those_   kind of pictures, for God’s sake! They were detailed anatomical drawings—completely educational!” He scowled, offended at the suggestion he’d do something so thoughtless. “And I _did_ happen to read it after your lessons. It was appropriate information to give a young man—the best I could give him, as a matter of fact, since I had no idea how you’d want the situation handled.”

“One has to wonder if he actually read it—Jacob has no love for books of any sort.”

“I actually wondered that myself at the time, however I’m rather certain he did,” he offered—immediately regretting the statement, knowing what was coming.

“Dare I ask how?”

“When you found out the difference in boys and girls, how did you react?”

Ethan snorted. “I began noticing them as something other than playmates—watching them and appreciating them in a way I hadn’t before, of course.”

“I was the same. I watched the lad to see if his eyes would wander when we went into town—checking for obvious signs of interest in his expression.”

Ethan arched a dark brow. “You said you were certain, which means you spotted what you were looking for, correct?”

“I did—”

“Then why in the hell are we even having this bloody conversation, George?” Ethan exploded. “ I thought the entire point of this discourse was your concern over them _not_   showing interest in—”

“Because it wasn’t some bloody lass on the High Street Jacob’s eyes targeted, Ethan! It was  _Evie_   that perked up his interest!” He pointed out the window, unable to contain a snort of frustration. “That’s your blasted hint right there! When I stare out this window, I’m transported back to when I was a lad of twenty one, watching the girl I loved more than anything frolicking with the one  _she_  loved.   They’re you and Cecily all over again, the same way  you were that summer—so wrapped up in each other they don’t notice the world around them.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Ethan snapped, scowling. “Don’t you dare start with that mystic piece of soul nonsense again George, or I swear I’ll—”

“I’m not! I’m trying to open your blasted eyes to what it is that’s escaping you! What is going on down there is  _not_   the normal kind of cuddling they do when we’re around them—right now they’re acting like a young couple experiencing the first pangs of bloody love Ethan! For all your plotting and planning, you overlooked one very important...” His voice trailed off abruptly as a sudden thought popped into his head, so intensely disturbing that it struck him temporarily mute.

For once, Ethan didn’t goad him, or make sarcastic demands that he finish his statement—he simply sat there stone faced, barely even blinking; but deep inside his dark eyes there was a glint—one that was so faint that only those who knew him well might see it.

There were none among the living who knew Ethan Frye better than he did—he caught that flicker, recognizing it immediately. It was smug self satisfaction—the glint that only appeared when Ethan was especially pleased with how well one of his plans had played out.

“Oh God above... please tell me you didn’t, Ethan.”

“Didn’t what?” Ethan’s brow wrinkled with confusion.

“For years I’ve been telling you they needed playmates other than each other,” he said slowly, trying to process the unthinkable. “You refused to allow it, insisting they had each other...”

“I do believe we’ve covered that topic already today, George... are you going senile on me?”

“Don’t you dare bloody condescend to me when I’m fighting the urge to either throttle you or wring your neck!” he growled, his hands fisting.

“Well do let me know which one you decide on so I can be properly prepared, won’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying the man beside him, looking for some sign of inner turmoil or guilt—but there was none to be seen; Ethan looked amused, if anything—his lips curving up at the corners and his eyes dancing with mirth as he tossed out cheeky wit. “You really have no idea what I’m thinking... what I’m talking about?”

“Not the slightest, but it’s rather enjoyable watching you huff and bristle like an angry old tom cat, so please—feel free to continue.”

His indignant anger drained away in a rush—mortification at his momentary lapse replacing it. “By God I’m losing my mind—I thought you... I should have known you wouldn’t go  _that_  far. Forgive me, Ethan.”

“You’re forgiven—though I still have no idea what you’re babbling about.”

“I thought... Christ I’m ashamed to admit it. I thought you’d planned this all from the start.”

“Planned... _what_   exactly?”

“The twins turning to each other in a non-platonic way... you must admit it would go neatly with your methods. No outside interference... no distractions other than the one that already exists by virtue of their twinship...” he mumbled, face heating with embarrassment at the folly.

“I see...” Ethan’s lips quirked up in a crooked little smile. “Well regardless, you’re still forgiven.”

His shame was so intense that it was painful to look at his friend; he averted his eyes, returning his gaze to the window and the twins below. An impromptu tickle fight had broken out—Jacob appeared to be winning, using his weight to pin his sister down, his fingers dancing along her ribs. “Maybe I’m altogether mistaken... I could have read everything wrong—they seem to be back to their normal selves again.”

“Be that as it may, you were right about one thing... they do resemble Cecily and myself—so much so that it sometimes hurts to look at them, remembering all that has been lost,” Ethan said, his voice low. “That was exactly what I couldn’t place my finger on—you pointing it out helped scratch the itch. The dress Evie had on last Sunday was one of her mother’s. I suppose she’s been rummaging around up here and found the things you packed away for me.”

“I’m sorry... I couldn’t bring myself to throw anything away, and I didn’t think you’d want me to—”

“It’s alright, George—it’s entirely my fault. You see... I’ve been coming up here on occasion, looking at her things—I’ve reached the point where I can do that without the rage and sorrow overwhelming the good memories. I suppose Evie must have trailed me and her curiosity got the better of her.”

“Aye... she’s a tricksy one—worse than Jake at times, if you ask me. Caught her going through my satchel a time or two—she claimed to be looking for a book of code,” he chuckled at the memory of how red faced the lass had gotten.

“You know... one of the things I found was Cecily’s journal. I couldn’t read it at first, it didn’t seem right.” Ethan flashed him a sad smile. “We both know where Evie gets that curious streak... I couldn’t resist flipping through the pages for long. She  _knew_ , George. That there were two inside her.”

He stared at him, unable to speak for a moment, trying to process what he’d heard. “But... why didn’t she... by God Ethan—if she’d shared that information before her labor, it would’ve saved her life!”

Ethan shook his head. “She was afraid they’d have me make a choice... her life or theirs. She saw it as her decision, and she made it.”

A sound escaped him—he couldn’t contain it; a mixture of rage and pain and sorrow echoed through the large space; clenching his jaw, he looked away, trying to master his emotions before they unmanned him. It wasn’t proper to grieve in front of Ethan—it wasn’t his place; it hadn’t been fifteen years before, and it still wasn’t, no matter what his friend might say.

“I had the same reaction,” Ethan murmured. “It tore the scabs off the old wounds. But I didn’t mention it to dredge up the pain... there’s a more important reason. Did Cecily ever mention her Uncles to you by chance? Not Christopher, the horseman, but the other two?”

He shook his head, unable to speak—still fighting back the surge of emotion that threatened to drown him.

“They were twins. She wrote that she hoped her babes would be as close as Evan and Ellis were—so close that not even death could come between them. It seems Evan died in a mining accident—as a result, Ellis wound up taking his own life because he couldn’t live without his twin.” Ethan sighed, rubbing his brow. “So if it seems like I am overly calm in light of your suggestions and accusations, that’s the reason. She wanted them to grow up closer than anything, and the fact they did must please her greatly, wherever she is.”

“Could I...” his voice broke—he stopped, clearing his throat, then tried again. “Would you let me see it sometime? Just a page or two?”

“Of course—if you remind me when we go downstairs, I’ll retrieve it for you. I won’t demand you swear to be careful with it—I know you’ll treasure it as much as I do. There’s quite a few complimentary things in it about you—she adored you, George, I hope you remember that. It might not have been in the way you wanted, but she loved you just the same.”

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to slow his breathing—a technique Ethan himself had taught him back in the beginning. “I wish she’d told you—”

“If wishes were fishes no one need starve—I feel the same, but she was always firm in her convictions. Which reminds me... we’ll have to tend to her daggers soon. She wanted them melted down and reforged into matching blades for the twin’s gauntlets when the time came—can you take care of that for me? I’m afraid I would be unable to follow through—I still feel the need to hoard everything she ever touched.”

“Of course—that’s a lovely idea. They’ll always have a piece of her with them—almost like she’s watching over them from beyond.” He swiped at his eyes, then pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “If you’re still planning on surprising them at their birthday, we’ll have to figure out a way to sneak the measurements soon—”

“Already done—the planning, I mean. I told them I’ll need their help replastering the walls in the cellar as soon as the weather stays consecutively warm for more than a few days; I thought you could join in and dare them to make casts of their arms—I’ll bluster and grumble about the lot of you wasting time to make it seem authentic. You can take the casts to Giovanni with the blades—they will be more accurate that way.”

“They keep growing the way they have been and you’ll have to have them redone in a year,” he pointed out.

“True, but I gave Cecily her first gauntlet on her sixteenth birthday... I want to carry on the same tradition with Jacob and Evie,” Ethan said, the corner of his lip curving up in a teasing grin. “Besides, not everyone can wait until they’re an old man of one and twenty to be measured, George.”

His face heated. “I was a late bloomer—picked it up fast enough once you started teaching me, didn’t I?”

“That you did.” Ethan shifted, resettling himself more comfortably on the crate—grimacing as his joints popped loudly. “I’m beginning to wonder if I was a better mentor to you than I’ve been to Jacob and Evie.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Ethan Frye,” he announced, frowning. “Why would you even say it?”

“In reflecting on my methods, I think perhaps I was too thorough in teaching them the tenants,” Ethan muttered, narrowing his eyes as he watched the children. “I wanted to instill in them a sense of self knowledge so they would embrace the truth of who they were and never falter in their convictions—so they’d have as much faith and confidence in themselves as Cecily had.”

“You’ve done just that,” he interjected, “So I don’t see the point in second guessing yourself now—there’s nothing wrong with wanting them to have those things.”

“Not on the surface... but if you examine it deeper, you can see the hidden flaws.” Ethan countered, glowering. “I dare say that most would insist that I taught them to think too freely—the minds of society as a whole are narrow and rigid, completely unwilling to be open to certain things.”

“You say that as if your mind does not have the same constraints.” He arched a brow, intrigued by the notion. “Is your mind so open that it’s not troubled by the things I’ve brought to your attention today?”

Ethan heaved a deep sigh. “Do you want the truth, George, or should I tell you  a pretty lie that will satisfy your moral compass?”

“The fact you asked that question might be construed as an answer in and of itself.”

“Should I be troubled? Undoubtedly—but I have to ask myself why that is, from a logical standpoint. Furthermore, being troubled over it seems to be a rather hypocritical stance to take, don’t you think?”

He eyed his friend, wondering if that had been a thinly veiled, backhanded insult. “Pardon? Are you implying that I’m a—”

“Not at all—you’ll catch on quick enough if you’ll hear me out.”

Ethan sat up a little straighter, his expression becoming stern; internally he groaned, recognizing the posturing and dreading the lecture that was bound to follow in its wake.

“Society has based what is acceptable and moral on religion and the teaching of the church for time interminable—yet you and I both know that the Church itself and the Templars are hand in hand and have been for centuries, twisting the populace at large to their specific goals and desires. That in itself should make a person question what is decreed moral or immoral, but for the sake of argument we’ll remove the Templars from the equation and simply focus on the theological side of the issue.”

“Thrilling,” he grumbled, unable to hide his sarcasm or extreme lack of enthusiasm over the topic.

“Theology in and of itself is simply another instance of men attempting to guide the masses to match their own will, gaining power in return. Christianity and Judaism is at the forefront, giving us the ten ruled that God demands we all abide by.  From a personal standpoint, I’ve broken six of the ten on numerous occasions; I’ve taken the name of God in vain, I’ve worked more Sabbath days than I can count, I dishonored my Father constantly,” Ethan counted them off on his fingers, smirking. “I’ve murdered, stolen and lied. That would seem to make me a most unholy man—one who is in no position to judge my children’s moral standing on  _any_  issue, much less one that God didn’t consider important enough to place in the ten He insists on.”

He blinked. “That is actually a rather good point—”

“Even better when you consider that the bible clearly tells us we aren’t to bloody well judge others in the first place—only God can do it.” Ethan flashed a smug smile. “Who’s to say society is right? Do we dare claim to know more about what is moral and just than the men God favored in scripture? The pages of that book are littered with men and women that could be paraded out as examples to the absolute opposite of what is considered proper and acceptable in this day and age, including the mother and step-father of the Christ himself, who happened to be extremely closely related if you read the texts in Ancient Greek and Aramaic. One also must consider _which_ version of the Bible is accurate, since different branches and cultures have their own blasted versions. Protestant? Catholic? Orthodox? The Tanakh? The Koran? Do we count the apocrypha or pretend it doesn’t exist? Really, it’s all quite tiresome.”

“Are you debating just for the sake of it, or you actually trying to convince yourself, Ethan?”

“I’m working things out in my head through discourse—unless you object?”

He couldn’t exactly say no since he was trying to do the same thing, albeit in a silent and far less pretentious manner.  “Not at all, carry on. Far be it from me to interrupt you when you’re on a tangent,” he mumbled.

“Moving away from theology—”

“Thank Christ—bloody hell, did I just break a commandment?” He drawled sardonically.

Ethan smirked. “Well done there.”

“I have my moments.” He flashed a grin. “Please, continue.”

“Indeed.” Ethan’s brow wrinkled for a moment his smile fading. “Damnation, I lost my train of thought—”

“We were moving from the boring topic of theology to something altogether different—and hopefully less mind numbing, unless you want me to fall asleep.”

“Ah yes, thank you—I was veering towards the Brotherhood itself. However, before I do, I just realized something that had escaped me before—in a way, Evie and Jacob are a living representation of the Brotherhood’s greatest contradiction; each has the same measure of instinct and logic battling inside them, Jacob favoring one, Evie the other...”

“One may be two things, opposite in every way, simultaneously,” he nodded. “I’ve thought that myself when watching them from time to time—Altaïr’s musings fit their behavior quite well.”

“We espouse that nothing is true and everything is permitted... but do we truly believe that, George? In questioning the validity of the truth and following reason itself and the Creed—even when it is completely contrary to society’s laws and standards—shouldn’t we also question the validity of the morals society insists on as well?”

“Ethan—”

“Let me finish! From the time Jacob and Evie were old enough to fully grasp the concept, we’ve taught them that we manifest our own destiny through our actions, and in turn are responsible for the consequence of those actions—I’ve made certain that they understand that basic principle, and that they take it into account at all times.  As such, shouldn’t we consider that perhaps they’ve done just that?”

“If you’d let me cut in for just a moment—”

“We’ve sworn our lives to these beliefs—how can we not embrace them in all things? We can’t pick and choose what they apply to—”

“Ethan!  You’re making this far more philosophical than it has to be, for God’s sake! It’s pompous and quite frustrating to listen to—not to mention the entire diatribe is rather grating,” he interrupted, scowling. “While you’ve been polemically deliberating the merit of this belief or that one, I’ve been sitting her mulling on the issue—”

“In other words not paying the slightest bit of attention,” Ethan huffed, looking put out.

“I happen to be capable of doing more than one thing at a time, thank you very much. I heard every insufferable word—how could I not with you practically shouting in my ear? I’ll even go a step further and say you made very valid points—now may I have the bloody floor for five seconds?”

“By all means, your majesty,” Ethan muttered sarcastically, throwing in a dramatic mock bow of his head.

“The fact of the matter is that you’re trying to approach the situation from a logical angle to help you decipher how you should respond, which means you’re going about the situation all wrong, Ethan. This has nothing to do with logic or morals or bloody society—it’s about Evie and Jacob, your children, and if that doesn’t stray into the territory of the heart and emotions then I’ll be damned if I know what might. Really, there’s only two simple questions you should be asking yourself, and they are the only ones that matter come sundown.”

Ethan cocked his head, looking intrigued. “I assume you plan on enlightening me? Or should I start making random guesses?”

“If in fact the twins are... _courting_... so to speak, does it change who they are at the core? Whether they are or aren’t playing footsie, it doesn’t make them different than the two children you loved.”

“That would be a question and a statement, George, not two—”

“I’m not done.” He pointed at the twins, feeling that painful twist in his heart again. “Those are Cecily’s children—the last piece of her we have left, Ethan. So what you have to ask yourself is this—are you truly willing to ignore how happy they are, and to turn your back on them simply because you or I or the bloody world itself doesn’t approve of how they love?”

“Judging by the fact you’ve gone from bristling like an outraged zealot in the pulpit to sounding rather complaisant, should I deduce that you’ve asked yourself those questions already?”

He shrugged. “I don’t understand it personally—the thought of touching one of my own sisters makes me completely ill. However, I don’t _have_   to understand it—it’s not my life, or yours or bloody anyone else’s but theirs. I meant it when I said you’d made good points—I ‘ve done far worse things in my life, so I’ve no business casting judgment on them about something that’s none of my business to begin with. I care far too much about them to let something like this affect how I see them—they’re still the same intelligent, kind children they’ve always been... that hasn’t changed because I witnessed them posturing and battering lashes at each other.”

“Very gracious of you, I suppose.” Ethan grunted, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Since you’re being so open and honest... I suppose I should admit that the moment we began discussing this issue... I might have happened to follow your rather accusatory line of thought—”

“Which part would that be, the planning or—”

“Good God—I’m not that bloody diabolical, George, no matter how intent you seem to be on believing the contrary.”  Ethan rolled his eyes. “I was referring to the point you brought up regarding it eradicating the problem of outside influences popping up in the future, while at the same time satisfying your incessant yammering about them having a life outside of training and the Brotherhood. Jacob and Evie have always taken care of each other’s needs—so truly... it doesn’t seem quite as shocking as it probably should.”

“The fact that actually makes sense clearly indicates that we’re becoming slightly depraved in our old age,” he muttered.

“Speak for yourself.” Ethan chuckled. “We could also be overreaching in our assumptions—this could simply be a case of spring fever. They could very well lose interest and become bored with the flirtations all on their own.”

“True enough—I was infatuated with a dozen pretty girls between the ages of fourteen and twenty.” His cheeks heated as his mind automatically drifted to the chance encounter on the High Street when an unattainable lass had caught his eye and unknowingly stolen his heart.

“Precisely—we could just be borrowing trouble, and you   _know_   how much I detest that practice.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning thoughtful. “However, in the event it’s not a passing fancy, I would far rather they reached maturity before taking things to another level—if you comprehend what I mean. When their training is complete and they’ve been blooded, not before—don’t you agree?”

“Aye.” He eyed his friend suspiciously. “What are you leading up to, Ethan?”

“Nothing really, just a change in scheduling. I think perhaps for time being, Sundays should involve group activities with the whole family, as opposed to the two of them just wandering off on their own to do God knows what. That is if you don’t mind making the trip down every weekend?”

He couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching up, his pleasure at being grouped in as part of the family filling him with joy. “I do believe I can manage it—I’ll hop the train like I did today—”

Ethan arched a brow. “You  _hate_   taking the train—”

“I do, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. You can even use me as an excuse if you like—tell them I’ve been melancholy over being stuck in bloody Croydon, rattling around in that house all alone.”

“Excellent idea.” Ethan nodded, looking pleased. “In fact, if I mention that in an offhand manner, they’ll probably insist on having you come round without my even suggesting it.”

Down below, the twins had regained their feet and were brushing each other off a little too thoroughly; casting a furtive look towards the house, they clasped hands, hurrying off to the trees behind the stable.

“Erring on the side of caution, if you’ll give your permission... I think perhaps I should run up to London this week to procure a —”

“Permission granted—we’ll figure out how to best explain it to him at a later date.” Ethan’s lips compressed into a thin line as he watched the twins slip into the trees. “George, would you be good enough to go down there and make your presence known? Offer to take them for a sweet or—”

“I have a better idea—what say you grab your coat and meet us out front? We can pop by the Hart and get Elsie to pack us up a basket—it’s a lovely day, we could eat down by the river.”

“That sounds splendid. We can set up near the spot where you were attacked and remind them of the story—that will distract the twins from each other and give them something to chitter about.”

Pleased that his friend had so easily acquiesced to the suggestion, he led the way as they headed down, branching off at the ground floor and cutting though the kitchen—calling out to the twins loudly as he strode across the garden. “Jacob? Evie? Are we playing hide and seek?”

A split second later they popped out from behind a tree, faces flushed in the manner that fifteen year olds are apt to be when caught misbehaving.

“George! What are you doing here?” Jacob asked, his face turning even redder as he reached over to pluck a stray leaf from his sister’s hair.

“I asked what you were up to first,” he countered, smirking. “You tell me then I’ll tell you.”

“Sparring,” the boy said, quickly.

“In the midst of the bloody trees?”

“It’s important to practice maneuvering in close quarters so you’ll be prepared in the event of combat in a tunnel or narrow hallway—Father says so,” Evie said, smoothing her hands over her tangled hair—looking pleased with herself when her twin shot her a look of adoring admiration. “And we started out sparring, but it turned into wrestling—I feel that I need to spend more time working on breaking free when pinned.”

 _The devil you do_ , he thought to himself. “Does that mean you plan on spending your day off training? I’d hoped you’d take pity on me and be up for a picnic, since the weather is so agreeable—I was horribly bored spending such a pretty day all alone.”

“Well... I’d have to make lunch for Father first,” Evie said, casting a furtive glance at her brother. “Otherwise he’ll forget to eat. He tends to do that when he’s working on translations and research.”

“He’d be coming with us, dove—he’s grabbing his coat and hat. But if you two don’t want to go, I suspect he’ll change his mind on me and decide the whole notion is a waste of time.”

“Did you bribe him?” Jacob asked, looking rather intrigued at the thought. “We usually can’t get him out of the study on Sundays, much less the house itself.”

“I imagine that’s fueled by nostalgia for the past, lad—you see, long before you were born, Sunday was the only day I had free from work. I’d come round for lessons from your parents and we’d spend the day toiling away in the study with a cozy fire burning.”

Jacob looked completely unimpressed with the thought of wasting a free day on studies. “That doesn’t explain how you convinced him, George.”

“I simply said my Sundays were horribly lonely at home,” he fibbed, steering them towards the front of the house—not feeling the slightest bit guilty at the lie since it was a partial truth.

“Then you should move in here, with us,” Evie declared. “We’ve plenty of space and it would make it more convenient for everyone, what with training—we could get in twice as much if you didn’t have to travel back and forth.”

Even as the suggestion touched his heart, it cause a twinge of pain—reminding him how long it had been since he’d viewed the world with youthful simplicity. “That’s a very nice idea, Evie, but you know we have to maintain a base in Croydon to monitor Templar activities.”

“Can’t the council dispatch someone else to do it? You’re needed here to help prepare us—that’s far more important.” Jacob huffed impatiently.

He smiled, shaking his head. “The council tends to move slower than a slug at the best of times, Jacob—and they are very big on efficiency. Right now there are only two qualified Master Assassins in Britain—your father, and me.”

They rounded the corner of the house to find Ethan pacing the walk, muttering under his breath about dawdling. “About time—with all the rumbling my stomach is doing, I believe it’s beginning to wonder if my throat has been slit.”

“Had to play shepherd and round up our lost sheep,” he quipped, winking. “They were practicing sparring round back.”

“On a Sunday?” Ethan quirked a brow at the twins, shooting them a measuring glance. “If you’d rather have more training than a day off, that can easily be arranged—”

“No Father,” Evie said quickly, “it was simply a spur of the moment decision.”

“Ah, well... if you’re _sure_...”

“She is!” Jacob nodded emphatically, catching his sister’s hand and towing her out the front gate before their father could change his mind and make good on the threat of increasing their mandatory training time.

Glancing over at him, Ethan lowered his voice to a murmur. “What were they—”

“Oh they stuck with the sparring story—apparently Evie thinks her technique needs work in the area of breaking holds when pinned,” he said, dryly.

“Ohhhh we’ll make her regret that little fib, won’t we?” Ethan cast him a conspiratorial look as they fell into step, following the twins.

“Indeed. I’m picturing how thrilled she’ll be to hear we’re going to focus on just that over the next few sessions—”

“And her utter dismay when she realizes she’ll be sparring with us and not Jacob.” Ethan chuckled. “She certainly inherited that quick mind from Cecily.”

“And her father’s impish tendency for mischief,” he added, smiling.

“A lethal combination if ever there was one—her mother’s beauty and brains with my personality to boot.” Ethan fell silent for a moment, watching as Jacob tugged a rose off the neighbor’s bush, tucking it behind Evie’s ear. “Incidentally, speaking of her resemblance to Cecily just reminded me of something—I assume you remember what you said to me upstairs?”

His brow wrinkled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Ethan, I said quite a bit—”

“I was referring to the part about ‘throttling’ me or ‘wringing’ my neck.” Ethan’s eyes sparkled impishly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “If you ever dare threaten me like that again, George Westhouse, I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing. “As if I don’t know by now that there would be no winner—we’re evenly matched. I was trying to make a point whilst expressing my frustration.”

“I wasn’t referring to the hypothetical fight itself—I believe I simply said you’d regret the threat,” Ethan said mysteriously.

“And what, pray tell, does  _that_   mean?”

“Simply that if you ever pull such a trick again... I’ll mention to the twins that you’re oft raving about how much Evie resembles her mother—and hinting that you’d like my consent to woo her and make her your bride.”

He stopped walking, his mouth dropping agape. “Ethan Frye! I  _never!_ She’s like a bloody daughter to me and you damned well know it!”

“I most certainly do, however, those two territorial creatures up there will react to the news instantly, not stopping to think things through.” Ethan smirked.

“So you tell a lie and I wind up dead and buried over it—that’s a bloody fine how do you do,” he growled. “Nice to know how you really feel about me—”

“One would actually think that you’d take it as a compliment, George, all things considered.”

“That makes about as much sense as putting trousers on a hog—”

“I was under the impression that younger brothers are supposed to pester older ones incessantly—especially when the older stoops to making threats of violence against them.” With that, Ethan put on a burst of speed, rushing to catch up with the twins—calling out as he sped past them. “Last one to the Hart gets none of Elsie’s chocolate cake!”

Jacob let out a whoop of excitement, instantly racing after his father; Evie, on the other hand, hung back, catching hold of his hand as he reached her side.

“Not in the mood for cake today, lass?” He asked, glancing down at her—unable to hide his surprise since it was her favorite dessert.

“Jake will share his with me,” she said dismissively, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s far more important for me to make sure you remember that you’re never really alone, dear George. We’ll always be right here whenever you need us—that’s what family is all about.”

He squeezed her hand back, but didn’t respond—it was impossible to speak around the enormous lump in his throat; her kind words were proof that his earlier argument had been valid, right at its very core. A part of Cecily lived on, not just in Jacob’s smile and Evie’s freckles, but more importantly in their compassionate nature and benevolence. They had inherited the most important thing of all from their mother—her tender heart, and her overwhelming capacity to love so completely.

He couldn’t let the world destroy those hearts—not when with every beat, they echoed Cecily’s own; if their feet continued to tread the path they were on, he vowed to himself that he’d shelter and protect them, no matter what it took. If anyone had a bloody problem with how they expressed that love, or tried to interfere, well, he’d simply deal with the scandalmongering Nosy Parker himself, in the manner he did best.

_With his fists—and the business end of his hidden blade._

“George... are you alright?”

The worried sound of her voice tugged him out of his overprotective thoughts. “Hmm? I’m right as rain, Evie girl, why?”

“Are you sure? You looked rather strange for a moment—”

“I was just thinking about your mother and how proud she must be of the young woman you’ve become,” he said, smiling to reassure her.

“Do you really think so? Sometimes... I wonder.” Her cheeks flushed, eyes dropping to the cobbles beneath their feet. “Lately I’m certain that she must be horrified at some of the things I’ve been thinking and feeling.”

He stopped walking, his grip on her hand almost tugging her off balance. “I don’t _ever_   want you to think something like that again, Evie Frye. There isn’t a bloody thing you could ever do to negate your mother’s pride and love for you—I can say that with absolute certainty, and it goes for your father too. A parent’s love doesn’t come with bloody footnotes or hidden costs—it’s unconditional. As long as you are true to yourself and listen to your heart then Cecily approves, and that’s the very advice she would give if she was standing right here beside us—it’s the exact same thing she always did herself.”

“You don’t understand,” she mumbled, still not meeting his gaze. “No one could... not even Mama.”

Reaching down, he grasped her chin gently, tilting her head up—waiting for her eyes to meet his. “It doesn’t matter who understands or doesn’t understand, dove—all that matters is that _you_ do. And all that matters to your mother and father and even to old dear George is that you and your brother are happy and healthy—that is more important than _anything_ else in this world.”

Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t think Father would agree with that—at least not where the Brotherhood is concerned. Our becoming assassins is more important than—”

“Bollocks. Does he want you and Jacob to carry on in his footsteps and continue the tradition? Of course—that’s what any father would want of his children. But if you decided to follow another path he wouldn’t love you one bit less, Evie. He’d be disappointed, and sulk and bluster for months on end, but eventually he’d simmer down and accept it—and he’d still be proud of you for the person that you are.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t—I don’t mean to be disrespectful, George, but I know the truth.”

“Well then by God we’re going to settle this right here and now, the only way that we can!” He lunged forward, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder with as much ease as he’d handled the sacks of grain at the mill in his youth, earning a surprised shriek in response.

“George! You stop this at once!”

Ignoring her huffing, he shifted his shoulders to make sure she was balanced, then set off running in the direction of the inn.

“You put me down this instant George Westhouse!”

“Not until we catch up—”

“I’ll scream!”

“Scream as long and as loud as you want lass—no one’ll pay the slightest bit of notice,” he chuckled, feeling smugly secure in the knowledge that everyone in town knew him well enough to trust his good character and not think the slightest thing wrong with the sight of him carting around Ethan Frye’s daughter.

She took a deep breath, almost unsettling herself in the process—then let out an eardrum piercing shriek. “JACOB! HELP ME!”

“Oh well that’s just bloody well cheating and you know it Evie,” he grumbled, scowling as he put on a burst of speed. As fast as Ethan and Jacob had taken off, they had to be near halfway to the Hart, well out of earshot range—he hoped.

Down another street, then round the corner—he was almost to the next turn off when two bodies came hurdling over the tall garden wall beside him, startling him so much he almost lost his footing. He sidled to put some space between himself and the ferociously scowling fifteen year old—casting a wary glance at Ethan, who happened to be wearing a matching expression.

Automatically Ethan reached out, grabbing Jacob’s arm to hold him in place. “George, what in the blue blazes—”

“I was trying to catch up,” he said, taking another step back to increase the distance between them.

Evie kicked her legs, bristling. “He yanked me right off my feet and—”

“Carting Evie like a sack of potatoes?” Ethan shot him an amused look, even as he gave Jacob’s arm a hard tug. “Stop growling Jacob—you’re not a bloody dog for God’s sake.”

“We were having a mild disagreement—it seemed the fastest way to reach you for judgment on who happens to be correct.” He lowered Evie to the ground, huffing as she elbowed him in the ribs, hard.  “She was being contrary—”

“I most certainly was not!” She scowled, darting away from him.

Immediately Jacob jerked free of his father’s grasp, rushing over to wrap his arms around her—clucking over her and petting her as if she’d just been in the clutches of a Templar. “Do you want me to whomp him, Eves? I’ll do it for you—”

“No one is whomping anyone,” Ethan said, snorting. “Not until I find out more about this disagreement.”

“I wasn’t being contrary in the slightest,” Evie huffed. “I was simply stating _fact_ , Father!”

“And what fact might that be?”

“I told her you’d still love her and be proud of her even if she decided she wanted to be a bloody dairy maid in Yorkshire instead of an assassin,” he growled, his gaze boring into the other man’s, trying to pass a silent message that he hoped Ethan would catch. “She insisted you wouldn’t—said that the Brotherhood is more important to you than them being happy.”

For a moment, Ethan didn’t respond—his dark eyes flicked to his children, his brow wrinkling. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—almost reserved. “You don’t want to be an assassin, Evie?”

“I never said that! I do want to be one!” Her face scrunched up—then was promptly hidden away in the curve of her brother’s neck.

“She didn’t, Ethan—it was a hypothetical,” he growled, irritated that his friend was missing the entire point of the statement.

Ethan moved over to the twins, crouching down just enough to put him at their level and tugging Evie away from Jacob—ignoring the furious glare his son shot him in response. “Evie, look at me darling—please.”

She sniffled, her eyes sparkling with tears as she obeyed. “I   _do_ want to—”

“Hush—just listen for a moment, alright? If you were to tell me that you wanted to be a milkmaid or a shepherdess or even a bloody girl selling flowers from a cart, I would be very disappointed in you, and so would your mother—”

Even as he tensed at how wrong the statement was, Evie shot him a look of triumph that practically shouted ‘I was right’.

“If you didn’t want to join the Brotherhood, I would hope that you’d want to accept the legacy of your mother’s family and raise horses on the farm in Wales, since a portion of it is yours and your brother’s by birthright. That would make Cecily so very happy, don’t you think, George?” Ethan turned his head, cocking a brow—the smug tilt of his mouth conveying as much of a silent message as his daughter’s had.

Evie, in the meantime, looked absolutely shocked—so much so that he wondered if she might keel over in a faint.

“Aye, she loved that place—talked about it all the time,” he agreed, nodding—passing along his own silent ‘well done, you’ to his friend.

“But... Father... I—”

“Shhh... I said _listen_  darling, remember? In this instance, George was right and you were terribly wrong—and truthfully, it hurts me very much that you would think my love for you and your brother is such a fickle, worthless thing. Yes, I want you and Jacob to be assassins—but _only_   if it’s what you want for yourselves. I would be disappointed, of course, but that’s not important—” Ethan’s words turned into a gurgle, abruptly choked off by his daughter as she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry Father—I won’t ever make that mistake again, I swear. But I really _do_   want to be an assassin just like you, and so does Jake.”

“I told you—there’s   _nothing_   you can do that will ever turn him against you, dove,” he said softly. “He’ll always love you and be proud of you... sometimes he just has a problem showing it.”

“Me too?” Jacob asked, brow wrinkling with worry.

“Of course it goes for you too, Jacob, though we really   _must_  do something about that growling and snarling—it’s downright disconcerting at times,” Ethan teased, chuckling as he reached over, pulling his son closer to join the embrace.

He watched them for a moment, enjoying the opportunity of seeing the softer side of Ethan’s personality peek out; it belonged to the old Ethan—the one that he often missed—and had rarely been seen since Cecily’s death.

Clearing his throat, he smiled—his muscles coiling as they prepared for the challenge they were about to face. “Well, I suppose that leaves just one other little puzzle to solve.”

“What’s that?” Ethan glanced over at him, shooting him a questioning look over the top of the twin’s heads.

“Who’d going to be the one missing out on that delicious chocolate cake?” With that, he took off, running like the devil himself was snapping at his heels—laughing into the wind at the shouts of protest from all three Fryes as they disentangled themselves, promptly giving chase.


End file.
